


Werewolf-Friendly

by badwolfbadwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, College Student Derek, College Student Stiles, Condoms, Derek Wears Glasses, Dirty Talk, First Time, Happy Ending, Knotting, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Prostitute Stiles, Safer Sex, Spanking, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Virgin Derek, Virginity, escort stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-11 03:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2051046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/pseuds/badwolfbadwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is a junior in college, never could get the hang of social interaction, and is, you know, a werewolf.  A werewolf <i>and</i> a virgin.  And it isn’t like anyone is banging down his door to hop on his werewolf dick, save for the few pervs who acted like he was some kind of exotic toy to be played with and <i>experienced</i>.  So, when he sees Stiles' ad on Hot Men 4 Rent, Derek is... interested.</p><p>  <i>And who is he kidding, he’s read that bio every day since that sad evening with the chocolate chip cookies, and has every facet of it memorized.  </i></p><p><i>Stiles, no last name.  Eighteen.  Student.  Good conversationalist.  Likes to crack jokes.  Fan of junk food but enjoys running.  Werewolf-friendly.  </i>Werewolf-friendly.</p><p>  <i>And there is his phone number and an email address.  Plus all the moles.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eeyore9990](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/gifts), [QHolmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QHolmes/gifts).



> I was really hoping to post this all as a one-shot, but my posting date came up and it got too long. Thanks so much for reading! :)
> 
> Dedicated to Eey because she made me do it and for this I love her and to QHolmes/alexandre00q cause I missed her birthday and hopefully some Sterek love will make up for it! The credit for the premise goes to thatworldinverted, and I am supremely grateful!
> 
> Thanks to [thatworldinverted](http://thatworldinverted.tumblr.com/), [eeyore9990](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com), and [dizzilytwirling](http://dizzilytwirling.tumblr.com) for being awesome readers, editors, and cheerleaders. Love you all!

Derek winces as he pulls back his black coffee, sucking cool air over his burned tongue and frowning as the contents of his knapsack spill out onto the ground in the process.  A jerk on a skateboard buzzes by, knocking into him slightly, and Derek holds onto his paper cup tightly as the guy calls out, “Watch where you’re going, wolf man!”

Frown turning into a scowl, Derek gathers his things and shifts his bag to his other shoulder, turning to walk across the quad at a quick pace so he won’t be late to his Sex and Gender in Antiquity lecture.  He is used to the name calling by now, three years of it have certainly numbed him somewhat, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not still annoyed by the lunk-headedness of it.  Just because he is one of the few werewolves on campus means he is up for constant ridicule by the majority of the student body, and even the fact that he made the Honor Roll each quarter and was on the school’s basketball team last year did nothing for his social standing.  He pushes his glasses up on his nose as he heads into the auditorium, sitting down in a dilapidated chair covered in faded dark velvet and squeaking the desk down.

“Hey Derek,” a voice from his left says, and Derek pushes his feet back to let Isaac shuffle by and plop into the seat next to him, his blond curls flopping with the movement.  Derek nods in reply, pulling out his notebook and a pencil and checking the lead.

“Did you do the reading for today?”

Derek gives Isaac a pointed look, because when had he ever not done the reading?

“Good, cause I need to look at your notes,” Isaac says, pulling on Derek’s notebook and flipping back a few pages.  “I think there’s a quiz today.”

“Then maybe you should’ve studied,” Derek says with a frown, snatching the notebook back and returning to its original blank page.  Isaac is annoying, but he is one of the only other wolves Derek knows, so therefore he tolerates him.  They had been random roommates as freshman, and Isaac had used his boyish charm to get them invited to several fraternity parties that had not only scarred Derek for life but scared him from a life full of frivolous partying, leaving him freed up for lonely Saturday nights from now into eternity.  Isaac refers to Derek as Grumpy Wolf, and Derek doesn’t care enough to stop him.  Plus he thinks it kind of suits him.

“I think your sister’s going to try and throw you a party for your twenty-first birthday,” Isaac says conversationally as the TA hands out quizzes beginning with the first row.  He tries to sneak another look at Derek’s notebook but Derek pushes it quickly into his knapsack and rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I know.  I told her if she threw me a surprise party I’d rip her throat out with my teeth.”

The girl sitting in the row in front of them gasps and stiffens up, and Derek grimaces with chagrin.

“He’s just joking,” Isaac says with a sweet smile, immediately dropping it to a sharp glare at Derek as soon as the girl turns back around.  

When Derek doesn’t say anything, Isaac plows ahead with his one-sided conversation.  “She was talking about a blind date, too.  She seemed excited about it.  You better talk to her, bro, if you don’t want to be fending off some loser in a fedora.  Remember that guy she brought around to the Halloween party who dressed up like Red Riding Hood just because he knew we were all wolves?  What was his name, Jake, or John or Jackson or whatever?  Rude.”

Derek tries to ignore Isaac’s whispers, looking over the questions on the paper in front of him and writing his name neatly on the top line.  “Shut up.”

“Rude,” Isaac repeats, though this time he smiles before flicking his eyes back to his own paper.  They scratch on their quizzes in silence, Derek only having to elbow Isaac once or twice to keep him from cheating.

“I’m not going on a blind date,” Derek says with finality ten minutes later as they hand in their quizzes.

“Then you better be seen with someone soon, or Cora’s going to line up every eligible bachelor from here until eternity for you to turn down.  Just saying.”

Derek creases his brow as he thinks about it.  The last time he’d been on a date had been an entire year ago, and the time before that, well.  He doesn’t like to think about it.  Fuck.  It isn’t like he’s trying to be single.  The guys on the basketball team were all ridiculously straight—no homo in the locker room, bro—and it isn’t like anyone is banging down his door to hop on his werewolf dick.  Aside from the couple pervs who acted like he was some kind of exotic toy to be played with and experienced.  

Derek shudders and begins to copy down the notes he’d been too busy zoning out to understand.  He tries not to pay too much attention to the fact that he’s going to be a twenty-one-year old virgin very soon, because that just sounds pathetic, though not worse than having one of Cora’s boy toys hanging around with a leer.  He’d talk to Cora later.  

“What does _‘pansexual’_ mean?” Isaac whispers, trying to peek over at Derek’s empty notes.

“It means you need to pay more attention.”

Isaac makes a frowny face on his paper and schools his features into the exact same look, and Derek has to laugh.

***

Friday evening and Derek’s sole plans are grilled chicken with broccoli and a book.  He frowns into his plate, wondering if he should call up Isaac to see what he’s up to or bite the bullet and have the conversation he’s dreading with his sister.  He cheats instead, grabbing his phone and typing out his message.

 _‘No surprise party or I’m not letting you borrow my car ever again.’_  Texting counts as a conversation, right?

Cora’s reply is one of those sad crying faces, but a minute later she sends back: _‘Fine.  But I’m still hooking you up with that guy from my salsa class.’_

_‘No thanks.’_

_‘He said you have nice arms.’_

_‘And how would he know that???’_

_‘I may have shown him a picture of you.’_

_‘Cora.’_

_‘What.’_

_‘Rrrrrrrrrr.’_

_‘Love you grumpy.’_

Derek waits five minutes before he replies to fully communicate his irritation.   _‘Love you too.’_

Derek knows it shouldn’t bother him, but his birthday at the end of the week is looming over him like a raincloud, and Cora isn’t helping him feel any better.  He throws his book down, unable to concentrate, and contemplates going to the gym or maybe having a little wank session.

He ends up on his laptop in bed, scrolling through his favorite porn website.  It isn’t always his thing, but sometimes he just wants a quick jerk and to go to bed early, and wow if it isn’t glaringly apparent why he is still single, this is the moment it all crystallizes.

Dick in his left hand, Derek flips through the videos for something to catch his eye, finally reverting to an old favorite when nothing seems to pique his interest.  He watches the two bodies sliding and grunting, the mindless fuck just enough to get him over the top.  He cleans up his hands and stomach mechanically, resolving that this is the time he was not going to feel sorry for himself post-orgasm, but it still presses down on him like a heavy weight as he stares at his ceiling tiles.  

He ends up searching the cupboards and comes back to bed with a sleeve of Chips Ahoy, curling up with them and resigning himself to his new life mate: cookies.  It isn’t even 10:30 for fuck’s sake.  He rolls over and is just about to shut the laptop when an ad on the top of the page catches his eye.  

The typeset looks kind of classy, the title _Hot Men 4 Rent_ not so much, but he clicks it anyways, confirms that yes, he is eighteen—and ugh, he doesn’t really need the reminder about his age—and then there he is, browsing a gay escort service’s site.  It isn’t actually as scary as he thought it’d be, and there is something called an ‘Escort of the Week’ feature as well as several guy’s profile pictures with little bios next to them.  He clicks on one of a guy chugging a carton of milk with no shirt on, laughing neurotically at the description and clicking out of the tab quickly.  There’s a filtering menu and suddenly he is clicking on ‘slim build’, ‘age 18-21’, 'Northern California', and a whole new list pops up.

He flicks through the pages idly, sure he’d never so much in his life actually send one of these guys an email, but unable to look away.  The site is an assortment of straight-up dick pics, muscled guys flexing in front of mirrors, and the occasional fully-clothed and more tasteful picture.  He clicks the ‘next’ arrow, briefly looking over the guy’s profile picture centered at the top.  It’s one of the clothed ones, and yeah, he is definitely cute with short, buzzed hair, and a slightly upturned nose, and Derek thinks he can make out a smattering of moles along his cheek that dip down to his neck.  That leads his eyes down to the guy’s tight shirt, a solid maroon color stretched over broad shoulders and a lean waist, and it’s definitely a good look on him.  He claims to be eighteen and he looks it, the slight smile on his face just a little devious, but it’s the small note on the bottom of the profile that Derek zeroes in on.  

‘Werewolf-friendly.’

He isn’t sure if he should be comforted or offended by the two-word statement, because he isn’t something to be ‘specialized’ in, and he doesn’t need some jerk kid thinking he is different.  He closes out the tab and eases another cookie from the pack, stuffing it in his mouth all at once and chewing slowly as he puzzles out whether he is mad at the ad or actually aroused by the guy’s pink lips, broad shoulders and visibly perky though clothed nipples even though he’s just jerked off.  He brushes off the crumbs from his chest and turns off his lamp, undecided, and haunted by dreams of empty cookie packages and calling up Escort Guy only to have him laugh viciously and just say ‘no.’  

Derek wakes up before the sun comes up and feels like shit.

***

Apparently Derek needs to learn to be more specific with Cora, because no surprise party means she can throw a regular one with plenty of notice.

“We’re just going out to the bar,” Cora says with a cheerful smile before wrestling with her chopsticks to stab into a California roll.  Derek picks his own up with ease, making an effort to tune out the buzz of the busy student union around them and tucking in his elbows as a large man shuffles past their table.  “Plus you can buy your baby sister some beer because you’ll be legal now!”

Swallowing, Derek opens his mouth to say no, but Cora cuts him off before he can even get the word out.

“It’s just a few people.  Isaac, and you remember my roommate Erica, right?  And her and Boyd are dating now so he’ll be there, too.”  She pauses and looks just slightly guilty enough to make Derek raise an eyebrow at her.

“And who else?”

“I met this guy at the gym named Ethan, super cute, super hot, and totally brainy.  You’d like him.”

Derek sighs, pushing back the plastic container of sushi and rasping a hand over his three-day-old stubble.  “Cora, I know you’re trying to be helpful, but.”

“Look, Derek, you’re like the oldest virgin I know!”

Derek kicks Cora under the table and glances around to make sure no one had heard.  “Can you keep your voice down?” he hisses between clenched teeth.  It’s bad enough he’s a known wolf, but if it got out that he’s a virgin he’d be toast in this town.

“Sorry, Der, but look, if I don’t help you, when are you ever gonna get off your ass and start sowing your oats?  Having a little fun?  You know mom would’ve wanted—”

“ _Don’t_ play the mom card,” Derek says brusquely, grabbing up his tray a little harder than he intends, scraping his chair against the floor, and standing up quickly.  “That’s a low blow even for you.”  He fights the urge to growl, knowing that is the last thing he should be doing in a public place, and that thought sparks his anger towards Cora even more.

“Sorry, but you know she just would’ve wanted you to be happy.”  She doesn’t look sorry at all, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder and finally giving up on her chopsticks and just grabbing the sushi with her fingers.

Derek hitches up his knapsack onto his shoulder, unresponsive save for a narrowing of his brows, and he turns to go without another word.

“You better come to your own birthday party, Grumpy,” Cora calls after him, and Derek only grunts in reply.  He walks to toss the remainder of his lunch, the anger fading quickly with each step, and as he swings through the heavy double doors and out into the chill of Fall he only feels dull, empty, and alone.

***

“Hey, it’s the birthday boy!” Erica says as she stands to clap Derek in a big hug, squeezing him tight and pressing her curvy body into him for a moment before springing away.  Derek gives her a half-hearted smile and waves at Boyd who is scooching over so they could all cram into one side of a booth.  He‘s rather large, Erica smooshed up next to him, blonde head tucked beneath his armpit, and Derek makes an effort to smile at them though he knows from experience looking in mirrors that his wooden smile is something that makes milk curdle.

“You showed up,” Cora says with a cocked grin, though she looks relieved that he actually had.  Mercifully there is no blind date, so Cora had apparently listened to him for once in her life.

“Well, you’re family.  I’m required by law to tolerate you,” he deadpans, but relents with a small smile when she reaches over the table to punch him in the arm.  He fakes a scowl and a hurt oof that no one believes for a second, feeling a real grin seep onto the corner of his lips reluctantly.

“Go get us some beers, loser.”  

“Love you, too.”  But he slides out of the booth, the soles of his shoes sticking to the floor as he makes his way over to the long, dingy countertop at the far end of the room.

Isaac is waiting at the bar, trying to catch the bartender’s attention and giving Derek an exasperated look when he slides up next to him.  

“Hey man, happy birthday.  Maybe now that you’re here we’ll get some service.”

Derek just looks at him in puzzlement, while Isaac grins in his smart-ass, sardonic way.  “Come on, you know you’re hot.  You work out like eight times a week and have the biceps of a Greek god.  Show a little skin so we can bump up in the line cause I’ve been waiting here forever and you know how Cora gets.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek says, feeling slightly self-conscious, and also vaguely wondering how Isaac knows how ‘Cora gets.’

“You’re a ten, dude.  Ten and a half.  I’m like a seven on a good day.  Go up there and flex your muscles and maybe show a little fang.”

Derek frowns, leaning on the bar and playing with the broken button on his leather jacket.  “No.  I don’t do that kind of thing.”

“God, you’re like the oldest man-child ever,” Isaac quips, rolling his eyes and drumming his fingers on the bar top as they wait.  After what seems like an eternity due to Derek’s lack of willingness to whore his wolf out for a little extra attention from the busty bartender, they come back with three beers each, passing them around the table to the delight of the rest of their underage party.

By Derek’s fourth beer he begins to feel loosened up a bit, at least enough to slide off his jacket and let Cora convince him to play in the next round of Circle of Death.  He is astoundingly bad at it, knocking back a fifth beer and a shot in the process, and getting suckered into a drinking contest with Boyd and Issac. The girls cheer them on to see who can chug their beer the fastest and Derek loses but feels blissfully unworried for once, and like he may actually be having some fun. They move on to Truth or Dare and the alcohol begins to catch up with him and the subject turns to sex, so Derek decides that maybe he should take a break and head off to the bathroom before he gets sick all over Erica’s stilettos and/or reveals something embarrassing in his drunken state.

He’s just swayed his way over to the wall when someone stops him with a hand to his chest, fisting into his shirt.  He looks down at it in what seemed like slow-motion, and then along the long slender arm that is attached, and then at the pair of perky breasts and a smiling face.

“Hey, you’re Derek, aren’t you?  Derek Hale?”

Derek nods slowly, peeling the girl’s hand off his chest.  She leans closer, obviously piss-drunk, though Derek isn’t in any better shape.  She giggles and opens her mouth, stopping to giggle again, and Derek has a sinking feeling he knows where this is headed but he doesn't really know how to stop it.

“You’re like, a wolf, aren’t you?  With the claws and fangs and stuff?”  She is biting her lip, and she would be attractive if Derek didn’t feel like she was sizing him up like a piece of meat.

“I’m just trying to find the bathroom…”

“I’ve heard that werewolves have bigger dicks,” she says, laughing like she’s said something truly witty, and Derek wrenches his hand away from her.  He feels his mood darken, cutting through the haze of his buzz and leaving a sour taste in his mouth.  

"Excuse me," Derek says curtly, pushing past her and into the bathrooms.   He splashes cold water on his face and looks at himself in the mirror, anger simmering in his gut.  His fangs want to drop and this more than anything makes him even angrier, the animal urge a timely reminder of what he is.  That they're all right.  That he doesn't deserve any more than this. He decides he can't handle Cora's puppy dog face and walks the two-miles home, even though he knows it's horribly rude to leave without saying goodbye.  He'll text Cora later.

He stumbles up the two flights of circular steps to fumble with his key like a drunken idiot and throws himself on his bed, feeling worse than ever.   He’s still hammered, drunk enough to be indignant at the room spinning. He picks up his laptop, closing his eyes briefly and reopening them, feeling his stomach lurching unhappily.

Apparently drunk him is also lonely and wants to look at gay escorts, and he finds himself browsing that stupid website again.  Derek paws at the keys, retyping the website three times before finally getting it right and navigating until he finds the guy with the mole’s page.  And who is he kidding, he’s read that bio every day since that sad evening with the chocolate chip cookies, and has every facet of it memorized.  

Stiles, no last name.  Eighteen.  Student.  Good conversationalist.  Likes to crack jokes.  Fan of junk food but enjoys running.  Werewolf-friendly.   _Werewolf-friendly._

And there is his phone number and an email address.  Plus all the moles.

The earlier irritation has only served to work Derek up, and now that he's calmed a bit he's just left with that trembling itch of wanting to be wanted, wanting to feel someone warm against him.  He's dying to see how far that line of moles goes down the guy's chest, and how those lean muscles wrap around long arms and sleek shoulders underneath that stupid maroon shirt.  He decides to give in to his baser instincts and falls back on his bed, pulling quickly on his dick as he thinks about putting the guy on all fours, kicking his knees apart, making him beg to put his cock inside of him.  He doesn’t even know where all this is coming from, but the thoughts spur him into a quick and dirty orgasm, flashing over his skin until he’s panting and covered in his own come, his shirt soaked with it.

Derek has never come so much in his life and now he’s been jacking it to Random Escort Guy every night of the week and practically crying in his pillow afterward, and what is his life.  He’s still tipsy enough to click on the email link, typing in a few lines before embarrassment gets the better of him and he just shuts the top of the laptop.  The room spins again, and this time he dreams of feeding cookies to Escort Guy which his dream-brain now calls Stiles.  Dream-Derek decides to go with it and fucks him silly.

***

He wakes in a panic, sitting straight up and immediately regretting the decision as his brain feels like it had been thwacked on the ground a few times and then punted.  This exact feeling is why he never goes out, he thinks sourly as he searches for the laptop, knocking into it with his knee as he rummages through the piles of sheets he’d cocooned himself in.

He opens it up, anxiety twisting in his gut as he pulls open his email and mashes the keys until he reaches the send screen.  And holy hell, he’d actually sent that email.  All it said was: _‘Hi, Stiles.  My name is Derek.’_ , but it’s enough to send terror through his hungover system.  He feels himself hyperventilating a little, heart thumping erratically as he tries to calm his nerves but his mouth is dry and he can’t stop his hands from shaking no matter how hard he tries.

Alright, it could’ve been worse, he reasons.  At least he’d spelled his name right.  And didn’t say anything else.  Particularly about how he’s thought about Stiles’ lips wrapped around his cock and the variety of naughty ways he’d like to see those narrow hips and lean thighs arranged.  But now, oh god, oh god, he has to do something to take it back.  Maybe send another email?  But what the hell would he even say?

He stands and paces the room, kicking at last night’s pants before going to sit on the toilet with his head in his hands.  After much painful deliberation he decides he’ll just call because god knows he doesn’t need to send another email, and he picks up the phone and dials the number before he can change his still-fuzzy mind.

“Hello?” comes a chipper voice, and Derek stares at the floor as he realizes he has absolutely no idea what to say.  Normally he plans out conversations in his mind before he picks up the phone, thinking of answers to all the possible questions and thoroughly freaking himself out.  Now he just sits there, freshly freaked out anyways and tongue heavy in his mouth.

“Hi.  Uh, is this Stiles?”

“Yep,” the voice says, sounding way too happy for this early in the morning.  And what the hell is Derek doing calling an escort at eight a.m. on a sunday morning?  “Who am I speaking to?”

“Oh, this is, uh, Derek.”

“Oh, Derek.  Hey, man,” Stiles says with something that sounded disturbingly like recognition.  “I got your email last night.”

“Oh shit,” Derek says before he can stop himself.  “Yeah, about that, I’m sorry.”  He doesn’t really know what to say.  I’m sorry that I was drunk.  I’m sorry that I jizzed all over my shirt thinking of spreading you open with my dick.  I’m sorry I’m a loser virgin werewolf who no one wants.

“Oh, that’s alright, dude.  Were you gonna…  finish that thought?”

Derek feels like a supreme idiot and he swallows two times before opening his mouth with no idea what is about to come out.  “Yeah.”  He can practically hear Stiles getting annoyed with him over the line, so he quickly spits out, “I saw your profile and was interested.”  Damn his headache for making him blisteringly honest in his hungover state, and fear suddenly lances through his body as he thinks that this is the moment he will be rejected.  Perhaps kindly, but rejected all the same.  And this really is not how he thought this conversation would go.

“Oh, cool.  I usually do a meeting first so we can get things straightened out.  Does that sound good?  Where do you live?”

“Emeryville,” Derek answers like an automaton, not quite believing where his recent life is taking him.  

“Awesome, that’s not too far from me.  Here, there’s this really good coffee shop on Bay Street, you got a pen?”

Derek nods even though Stiles can’t see him, fumbling around through his nightstand and fishing out a drug store receipt to write down the address on.  “Yes, I got it.”  Derek Hale, capable of finding pens and making accidental dates with escorts he’d drunkenly emailed and then jerked off to.  He’s a real winner.

“Okay, in a first meeting you need to tell me what you’re looking for, you know kinks, acts to be performed, what do you want in general, and I’ll tell you my prices and where my hard lines are.  I don’t bareback without negative test results which takes a couple days to come back.  This is all standard stuff, but you know, safety first as my dad always says.  And eww, I guess that was kind of weird, sorry.  I’m just rambling now.  Can you say something?  You still there?  I didn’t scare you off, did I?  Derek?”

“Do you always talk this much?”  Derek shuts his mouth quickly, constantly amazed at how badly he can fuck up a conversation with so little conscious effort on his part.  Stiles seems amused though, his laughter having a bit of a lilt to it, and Derek wonders about how Stiles’ nose moves with the movement, and what his hands are doing, and _fuck._  He needs to slow the heck down because as much as he tries to ignore his tented boxer shorts, he’s getting turned on by a quick-talking escort who he’s strongly considering paying for sex, and if that isn’t a mind-fuck for eight a.m. after a hard night of drinking, he doesn’t know what is.

“And what will you be wearing?”  It’s a bit of a cheesy-sounding line, but Stiles makes it funny, probably smiling and fixing the hem of his shirt while he waits for Derek to chew his bottom lip off.

“I'll have on a green henley, and a knapsack.  It’s khaki.  Dark hair. And I wear glasses.  They’re kind of thick.”  Derek realizes he probably sounds like the nerdiest of all the nerds, and that’s not really that off from reality.  He knows it’s not like Stiles will really care, because he’ll be paying him to be there, but there’s still something vulnerable in wanting to be wanted, and he’s suddenly not sure he’s up for it.

“I’m looking forward to it.  Tomorrow night then, yes?”

And sure he is, it’s not like there’s not anything in it for Stiles.  It’s a Monday but Derek agrees anyways, if only for the sheer desire to get off the phone and stop making a fool of himself.  “Okay.  I’ll see you then,” he says awkwardly, pushing the button to end the call and putting the phone down on the countertop.  He stares at it like it personally affronts him before dropping his head into his hands and murmuring ‘Fuck fuck _fuck_.’  He stays there for a long time until he’s finally hungry enough to forage for food and comes up with only plain yogurt, the kind he hates.

***

Monday morning and Derek dresses in his green henley with a solemnity like he’s headed to a funeral.  He’s not even sure if his “date” with Stiles means anything will be happening tonight, but he massively cleaned his entire apartment and stashed his smelly gym equipment on the balcony just in case.  He tries not to think too much about it, because he doesn’t want an inopportune hard-on in the middle of The History of the French Revolution, but tonight he totally might have someone touching his dick.

He purposefully avoids Isaac and skips out on his normal lunch date with Cora, ignoring her texts as he putters around his apartment before deciding to hit the gym in the hours he has until he has to make an appearance at the coffee shop.  As he sits between sets on the Smith Machine, Stiles’ words bounce around Derek’s mind.  Kinks.  What kinks did he want.  What did he want to do.  What did he want to do to Stiles.

Well, his wolf side has a very specific list of things he wants to do.  And most of them involve pushing Stiles’ head down to the mattress and plowing into him like he's a bitch in heat.  He twitches, flushing with shame, because there’s no way he’d ask anyone to do that, not even if he was paying them.  Derek’s loathe to admit it, but those are the types of things that normally tip him over the edge when he’s jerking it.  The scent of lust, scrambling fingers and a slick back.  Parted cheeks and a knot squeezing in, painting pale skin with come and pushing it back inside.  He may be a virgin but he’s seen enough werewolf porn to get a good visual, and now he has to slide off to the showers so he can mount his hand and think about what Stiles’ moles taste like.

The need to be silent makes him come even harder, his knot popping out unexpectedly as it sometimes does when he’s really keyed up.  He pushes his forehead to the cool tile, ignoring the grossness of it as his come swirls around his feet and down the drain.  And well, he’s just screwed if this is the reaction he’s having from just the _thought_ of fucking someone real.  He’s going to come in two minutes and Stiles will be nice about it but will secretly judge him and probably go back and tell all his friends how werewolves are big idiots.  Big dumb animals who only want to breed, and Derek can go back to living a life of solitude, but at least then he won’t have to suffer the indignity of being a premature ejaculator.

He pulls a towel around himself and prays to god he’s the only one who’s ever jerked off in that shower, because he forgot his shower shoes and that’s just disgusting.

***

Derek shows up to the coffee shop ten minutes early—compulsive earliness is one of his flaws.  One of many.  He normally drinks his coffee black but is feeling like he wants something a little sweet so he asks for three creams and three sugars, and when it’s finally cooled down enough to sip he thinks he might die of diabetic shock from the sweetness.  He’s fiddling with the cardboard sleeves and putting two back in the little box when he senses someone walking up next to him and pause.  He purposefully doesn’t look up immediately, prolonging the inevitable moment when he’ll have to open his mouth and speak, but then he finally does and his mind draws an absolute blank anyways.

Stiles is even more gorgeous in person than he'd imagined, an easy smile on his face as he appears to give Derek a brief once over.  “Hey.  Derek, right?”  Derek nods, and Stiles is much taller than Derek had imagined him, almost the same height as he is, really, and dark hair slightly longer than the buzzed cut he had in his profile picture.  

Derek nods dumbly, clutching his coffee cup to his chest.  “Hi.  Stiles.”  The word feels odd on his tongue, like he shouldn’t be allowed to say something so intimate to this stranger.  Stiles looks pleased though, honey-brown eyes lingering on Derek’s bicep and across the stretch of his t-shirt, and something inside Derek puffs up ridiculously.  Like he’s preening.  Fucking werewolf DNA.

“Let’s go get a spot,” Stiles says warmly, and Derek follows after him like a lost puppy, his coffee cup burning his hand without the sleeve but he doesn’t want to turn back around and go get a new one.  It does give Derek a chance to check out Stiles’ ass as he walks, and wow is it a nice one.  Stiles has on a casual plaid shirt and tight-fitting khakis, and Derek swallows heavily as he tries not to watch the way the pants bunch at his knees and ass, and the way he fills them out so nicely.

Stiles stops in front of a small table with two chairs set up in a hidden nook, and it’s far enough from any of the other patrons that their conversation will be able to be mostly private.  Derek slides into the wooden chair opposite of Stiles, feeling even more nervous as he realizes the talking portion of this meeting will now be beginning, and the way Stiles is staring at him with a slight curve to the corner of his lips is unnerving.

“The coffee’s good here,” Stiles offers, taking a careful sip of his drink and licking off the whipped cream from his top lip.  “You been here before?”

“Yeah, it’s not too bad,” Derek says, grateful to grasp onto small talk so he doesn’t have to go right into ‘sex’ and ‘virgin’ in the same sentence.  His palms begin to sweat, and he wipes them on his jeans and tries to look casual as he leans back in his chair.

“They make the best caramel macchiatos here.  Sooooo good.” Stiles grins as he takes another sip, obviously noting how Derek is tracking the movement of his lips and tongue which makes him smirk a bit more.  “I'm kind of dependent on caffeine.  It’s a really-bad-for-you addiction, but there are worse things.”

Derek nods, trying to smile but finding it hard to school his features into the right expression to give the appearance that he is not a robot.  He sips at his own drink, wincing slightly at the sugary taste and setting down the cup which is a mistake as he immediately doesn’t know what to do with his hands.  He settles for putting them on his lap which feels awkward, so he plays with the lip of the coffee cup instead, not knowing where to look and ending up studying an abstract painting that is possibly supposed to resemble a teacup hanging on the wall next to them.

“So is this your first time?” Stiles says, and it makes Derek twitch and look up in surprise.  It takes him a moment to realize Stiles means his first time calling up an escort, and not his first time having sex _ever_.  “It’s totally okay.  I know it can be kind of weird at first so, like, let me lay out the terms I normally go by, and you stop and tell me if you have any questions or anything, alright?”

Derek nods again, and finds the courage to say, “Yeah, okay.”

Stiles straightens up a little bit, looking slightly more professional.  Derek notices the way his gelled hair flops forward slightly before focusing on what Stiles is saying.  “So I assume you read the website, right?  The basic terms are that this is an escort service, so whatever you’re looking for—dates, cuddles, wild rides—it’s whatever you’re interested in.”

Derek has read the entire website, though it was rather cryptic about certain aspects of what “full-service” entailed.  

“So, you tell me what you’re interested in and we can go from there, set up another time to meet, or I’m free now if, you know…”  Stiles trails off looking over and seeming slightly perplexed at Derek’s answering silence.

“Dates are good.  And I, you know, also.”  Derek swallows, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs and tugging at the collar of his henley.  “Also, sex.”  He’s half-surprised he even got the word out, but Stiles leans forward with his elbows on the table and gives a little waggle of his eyebrows.

“Awesome.  I’m totally looking forward to that part because, you know.  Damn.”  His eyes slide down Derek’s neck and Derek can actually feel his body temperature rising and blood spill across his cheeks as a flush blossoms.  

Stiles tactfully doesn’t comment, but lets the silence settle as he takes another long sip from his drink.  “Okay, so, my hard limits are no fluids except semen and saliva, must use a condom unless I have your clean bill of health, and no permanent marks.  Payments ahead of time, every time.  And you sign a contract agreeing to our terms.  Is that acceptable to you?”

“Yes,” Derek says, feeling like one-word sentences are a pretty good achievement.  

“Also I’m totally into kinky werewolf stuff, so don’t be afraid to go wild with those things.  You are a werewolf, right?”  Stiles has a shit-eating grin on his face and Derek knows he must look surprised so he tries to temper his eyebrows.  “Don’t worry, you’re not obvious.  I’m just good at knowing that kind of stuff.  But you know, claws and fangs, a-ok.  Knotting?  Yes, please.”

Derek’s feeling hot under the collar now, the scent of Stiles’ interest warm in the air between them.  “No knotting.”  It hurts a little to say it, because oh does his body want to knot Stiles with a sudden, burning ache, but that’s a little too intimate for a casual encounter.  Derek knows it’s a slightly old-fashioned viewpoint, but, hey, he’s hiring an escort, so he cuts himself some slack.

“Ok, no problem,” Stiles says, completely nonplussed, and Derek relaxes back into his seat slightly.  He realizes he’s drained all of his coffee and he sets it back on the table, the sugar and caffeine making him feel jittery.

Stiles spends the next several minutes outlining his price points in detail, and shows Derek a typed contract in which he hand-writes a few provisions on the bottom.  Derek looks at the money without batting an eye, handing over a credit card that Stiles swipes with a handy attachment to his iPhone.  Derek has enough money to send himself _and_ Cora to med school if he wanted—family money and life insurance payouts keep them more than just getting by.  He feels slightly guilty at spending those funds on sex for a moment before remembering Cora’s eager face, and he blinks, trying to shut down any type of emotion connected to family and loss and expectations.

Stiles drums his fingers on the tabletop, long, thin things that make Derek’s dick chub up just slightly in his pants.  “Do you live near here?  Cause I’m kinda eager to get my hands on you, big guy.  Get you to tell me what you like.  I bet you’re real vocal in bed, once you get going.  The strong, silent types always seem to pour out all the filth when they’re coming their brains out.”

The cup is crushed in Derek’s hand, body freezing up as Stiles’ words crawl through his blood.  Derek doesn’t really want to tell Stiles about his experience of lack of experiences, rather, and he faintly thinks that maybe he won’t have to.  His mind gets tripped up on the idea that maybe he’ll actually have to pay extra for being a virgin, because he’s some charity case that needs extra attention, and maybe he should’ve outlined that in the contract.  Although he is slightly happy that the word ‘virgin’ isn’t yet printed anywhere attached to his name and signature, so he decides to defer until it becomes relevant.  Which will hopefully be never.

“That’s, uh.  Yeah.  Good.  Okay.”  Derek stands, hoping that the look Stiles is giving him is not actually pity, but not really that optimistic about it.  “Are we… should we…  I’m actually within walking distance from here.”

Stiles stands up and claps Derek on the shoulder, the touch electric even through the layer of soft fabric.  “Great!  Lead the way.”  He looks actually happy to be leaving with Derek, maybe like he’s excited, but Derek doesn’t let himself believe for even a second that it isn’t paid enthusiasm.  They walk out of the shop with Stiles slightly behind Derek due to the narrow pathways between bean bags and flirting co-eds, and when they step into the cool fall air everything seems a bit surreal.  

The walk is only about five minutes, and Derek quickly learns that Stiles’ chatter-box mouth isn’t only business—he’s like that about everything.  There’s not too many people around them but Stiles cans the sex talk and asks Derek gently probing questions about where he lives, if he has a job, what he likes to do in his free time.  Derek answers succinctly: one-bedroom apartment, no, work-out.

Stiles shoots him a grin like he’s puzzling out who Derek is, and it’s slightly unnerving because Derek thinks he might be getting it right and they've only known each other for forty minutes give or take.  They grow silent as they reach Derek’s apartment building, a massive brick box with ivy crawling up the sides and a circular staircase that they trek up to reach Derek’s second-story apartment.  Derek knows it’s nicer than most college apartments—well, nicer by a lot—but Stiles takes it all in stride, not giving any outward indication of a reaction.

“Shoes off?” he says, pausing at the door mat, and Derek nods, wondering what Stiles thinks of that.  Derek leads the way into the interior, walking through the good-sized kitchen and into the spacious living room that’s sparsely decorated with furniture Derek rescued from his family’s home.  There’s a large full-length window at the end of the room, and the view is impressive, almost too dark to make out the campus bell tower and the domed roof of the conservatory in the distance, and the last rays of sunlight make the tips of the trees glow.

“Nice,” Stiles comments before dropping down onto the leather couch and bouncing a few times to feel how soft it is.  Derek forces his feet to move forward, sitting down on the worn spot next to him and feeling incredibly awkward as he leans back into the cushions.

“God, you’re hot,” Stiles says easily, bending his knee and sliding his foot up on the couch.  He bites his lip and looks so damn attractive it should be illegal.  Derek doesn’t reply, resisting the urge to laugh neurotically and ends up huffing a small breath through his nose.  “What, don’t believe me?” Stiles guesses which has Derek frowning at his intuition.  “Cause if yes, you’re ridiculous.”

He moves over on the couch until his toe is touching Derek’s thigh, and he’s so much closer now that Derek can’t help but trace the lines of Stiles’ face with his gaze.  The moles form constellations on the pale skin, and in a burst of confidence Derek lifts his hand to brush against a trio on Stiles’ cheek.  Stiles grins and turns his head to kiss chastely against the fingers before letting his mouth fall open into more of a gnawing bite.  He very slowly grabs Derek’s wrist and pulls him closer, drawing Derek’s thumb into his mouth and sucking onto it with a wet slurp.

“I’m not ridiculous,” Derek says breathlessly as Stiles’ tongue flicks across his thumb’s tip, and Derek’s cock feels a small throb.

“Yeah you are,” Stiles replies, though it comes out rather muddled.  Stiles’ lips look so good curved around Derek’s thumb and he knows it, smiling and biting down before dragging his teeth over the knuckle.  “Want me to blow you now?”

Derek nods, mute, watching with wide eyes as Stiles slides fluidly down the couch and pushes away the coffee table before settling between Derek’s spread legs.  He starts slow because Derek’s nerves are painfully obvious, taking his time by rubbing along Derek’s calves and thighs and over the bulge in his pants while Derek bites his tongue.  By the time Stiles pulls down his zipper and pushes a hand under his waistband, Derek is leaking profusely.  Derek raises his hips to help Stiles ease his jeans down, and as his ass hits the leather of the couch he feels odd with the contrast of his naked skin against the fabric and his shirt still hitched up around his stomach.

“Shit, that’s a nice cock,” Stiles says with appreciation that sounds genuine as he wraps his hand around Derek’s length and gives him a slow tug.  They watch the foreskin drag up and over the head and then back down, revealing the shiny, red tip.  Derek fights the urge to close his eyes, the visual of Stiles kneeling between his legs one he doesn’t want to miss out on.

Stiles pulls a condom out of his pocket and tears it open, a brief, brilliant smile lighting up his face before he pushes it into his mouth.  He holds Derek still with one hand and dips forward, swallowing him down with one easy swoop that both unrolls the condom and makes Derek mutter out an expletive and clutch onto the couch cushions.

The flutter of Stiles’ tongue has Derek jerking forward with his hips, and he may have done this part before but it’s been a long time and he’s having a hard time controlling any of his reactions, even with the latex dampening the sensation.  And when Stiles opens his mouth wide and suckles on the head, well damn, how did Derek not notice how gorgeous Stiles’ lips were earlier?  Maybe it’s just the way they stretch obscenely around his cock as he sinks lower and lower, and watching Stiles take his cock down his throat so easily has got to be the hottest thing Derek’s ever seen.

“Yeah, that’s.  That’s good,” Derek pants out as Stiles bobs up and down, hands splayed on Derek’s knees for a bit of leverage.  Stiles gurgles, apparently happy to have pleased Derek, curving his tongue on an upstroke and swirling it around the ridges of the head.  He pops off, a stream of spit connecting his bright red lips and Derek’s cock, and his face looking slightly flushed.  Derek suddenly wishes Stiles had less clothes on, but he’s loathe to say anything because he still feels awkward and doesn’t quite know what the etiquette is in this type of situation.

Stiles rests his jaw for a moment, laying his head on Derek’s thigh and adjusting his own pants before giving Derek slow, steady jerks while the other slides lower to cup his balls with sure fingers.  “Can’t wait for you to fuck me,” Stiles purrs, which confuses Derek because he doesn’t know if the fantasy of Stiles wanting him is going to work, and he doesn’t want fake praise.  But it does feel good, so good, and Stiles looks happy to be doing it.  In fact he looks as pleased as pie, diving back down to suck Derek’s cock down as far as he can, his throat swallowing so he can take Derek in that little bit more.

Growing braver, Derek pushes his hands into Stiles’ hair, satisfaction blooming as he finally fists into the long strands and tugs, the slight pain makes Stiles grunt.  It buzzes along his cock satisfyingly so he does it again and again until Stiles starts to make a sound akin to a mewl, and Derek freezes momentarily, worried he went too far.

Stiles pops off again, pumping Derek steadily as he licks his lips.

“Is this okay?” Derek asks, lightly fingering along Stiles’ sideburn and dropping his fingertips to Stiles’ mouth, Stiles eagerly sucking on the tips.

“Yeah, yeah, definitely.  Want you to fuck my mouth.  Want you to hold me where you want me and just _use_ me.  Yeah, Derek.  Can you do that?”

Derek nods quickly, thinking Stiles is one hell of a salesman because he’s just nailed down in about five minutes what exactly Derek wants and made it seem like Derek is doing him a favor by agreeing to it.  Stiles’ tongue flicks and sucks, the whole ordeal becoming messier with spit and Derek’s pre-come leaking into the condom, and Derek’s fingers return to fisting as he begins to make tiny thrusts into Stiles’ mouth.  Stiles busies his fingers again, twisting and squeezing, and that combined with the white hot suction and Stiles’ muffled moans has Derek trembling toward that sticky-hot feeling right before orgasm.

“Fuck,” he pants eloquently as Stiles tongues at the tip before plunging down all the way again, nose pressed against Derek’s belly.  “I’m close.  I’m gonna—”  He’s used to giving warning, trying to give Stiles time to pull away, but with the condom it doesn’t really matter.  Stiles grasps on to Derek’s hip with one hand so he can’t be displaced and full-out moans when Derek freezes and stutters before spilling out in hot spurts and filling up the condom.  The slurping noises are obscene, Derek’s skin on fire with a tingling blaze as Stiles milks it out of him, and when he’s finished Derek slumps back and looks through heavily lidded eyes as Stiles licks his puffy, red lips and grins like he’s the one who’s just come.

Derek eases off the condom and then lets himself bathe in the afterglow for a minute, mind blissfully blank.  He briefly reflects on how he feels calm and relaxed rather than his usual post-orgasm blah, and it's a wonderful warmth that rolls across his skin.  He knows it doesn’t mean anything—he’s acutely aware of that fact—but it was a really fucking good blow job and Stiles is curled up next to him looking pleased so Derek can’t help but let a lax grin slide across his face.

“Your smile, dude,” Stiles says easily, and Derek notices how he’s got the heel of his palm pressed up against his crotch.  “You don’t even know.”

Derek moves an eyebrow, hedging a laugh as he leans over to grab a tissue and wipe himself off.  “You’re a funny one,” he says, and that’s possibly the longest sentence he’s said in the last hour.

Stiles makes a face that is truly ridiculous before returning to the bright smile.  He’s stopped palming himself and Derek is a little disappointed, suddenly very curious about what Stiles’ dick looks like and if he’s uncut, and if he’d be adverse to Derek kneeling down and sucking him off.

He’s just opening his mouth to say so when Stiles beats him to it, saying, “This was fun.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, surprising himself, because it actually was fun despite all of his awkwardness.  He doesn’t want Stiles to leave but he can sense that the evening is wrapping up so he tries to come up with something to say.  “Next time, do you think…”  And Stiles lights up at the words, and damn, it’s a good look on him.  Derek wonders if he’d look the same blissed out post-orgasm, a little sweatier though, and naked.  Definitely naked.  Next time he’d get Stiles naked.

“I’m kind of part-time,” Stiles says, and for some reason this makes Derek’s stomach sink.  “But I do have a Monday spot open, if you know, you want to do this again.  Some people do, like, a regular thing each week.  No pressure,” he adds quickly, spreading his hands wide.  “You can think about it, and call me later or whatever.  Or texting is good, too.  I totally answer those all the time even when I shouldn’t.”  He flashes his grin again and it is blinding.

“No, no, uh, next Monday works for me.”  Derek allows himself a small smile, not wanting to seem like a total freak.  “I have some other, uh, ideas.”

“Sounds perfect.  Why don’t you text me later in the week and tell me where you wanna meet.  Or if you just wanna come here, that’s good, too.  Also sexting.  We can sext.  I’m totally a good sexter!”

Derek laughs, watching the way Stiles fiddles with the hem of his shirt like he can’t stay still for even a moment.  “I’m not a good sexter.”

“I’ll teach you!  You’ll pick it up real quick.”  Stiles stands and Derek follows suit, trailing after him to the door.  It feels awkward ending an orgasm this way, but Stiles’ disarming smile makes Derek forget a lot.

They reach the door and without even thinking about it, Derek pins Stiles up to it, pressing tight so their bodies are flush.  It makes Stiles inhale sharply, and Derek dips his head to nose along Stiles’ neck and get a good whiff of his scent.  He smells like sweat and soap, the cloying taste of arousal and excitement definitely hanging in the soft dip of his collarbone.  Stiles stills, letting Derek take it in, tipping back his head slightly in a show of submission that is explicit and deliberate.

Derek surprises himself by growling deep in his chest and working his jaw open, mouthing along the cord of muscle there before wrenching himself away.  He looks down at the floor for a moment, hands flexing and claws feeling like they’re about to pop out, and he feels confusion flicker over his face because his wolf should be way easier to control than that, and, fuck, what is he doing?  A sharp breath from Stiles forces him to look up, and Derek is flooded with the scent of increased arousal, Stiles’ bright-red cheeks physical evidence of the blood Derek can hear rushing through his veins.

“I’ll just go now,” Stiles says weakly, and it pains Derek to nod and step back, because he didn’t pay Stiles for anything more tonight, and he doesn’t want to be disrespectful or pushy or needy.  Stiles smiles sweetly though, making it slightly dirty after a moment because he knows Derek can smell how turned on he is.

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Derek says, feeling like he wants to kiss Stiles and irritated he hadn’t earlier when he’d had the chance, instead of just letting him drop to his knees right away.  Fuck, he’d have to be smoother next time.

“Night,” Stiles trills before disappearing behind the door.  Derek lays his cheek against the cool wood, listening to Stiles’ pulse all the way down the stairs until it disappears out the door.  He tries not to think too hard about it, but he can feel excitement thrumming in his gut as he thinks about the standing date he now has with Stiles, and how he has a week to think about just what he wants to do to that gorgeous body.

He tries to avoid the thought that Stiles will let him do all those wicked things to him because he’s paying him—and paying him an awful lot—but it’s easy to ignore when he’s trembling through his third orgasm of the day later to thoughts of Stiles’ lips and tongue, and Stiles’ hair tangled in his fingers.

***

Friday at lunch, and Derek’s waiting for Cora in the Union again, this time with a garden salad, no onions.  He kind of hates the place—too many people, too much idle chatter that he just doesn’t care about—but it’s between his classes and Cora always insists, and Cora always gets what she wants.

“Hey,” she says as she rounds the table and plops down with her tray of greasy french fries and a humongous burger.

“Does that have a fried egg on it?  You’re brave for trying that from the cafeteria,” Derek jibes with a half-smile, and Cora frowns at him with the typical Hale expression of disapproval.

“I have a high metabolism.  Get off my back.”

Derek raises his hands in surrender, picking up his plastic fork and dipping the tines in his dressing.  “Plans for this weekend?”

Cora chews for a while before swallowing heavily and taking a swig of her soda while Derek waits patiently.  “Party tomorrow night at Alpha Phi, you know the one werewolf sorority that had that raging party that you and Isaac got kicked out of.  Are you ever gonna explain that to me, bro?”

Derek bites back a laugh, because that story actually is funny, but he’d never tell his sister.  He has an image to keep up.  “Nope.”

“Asshole,” she says goodnaturedly.  “How ‘bout you?”

“Nah, no plans.  Got a big paper coming up for my History of Medieval England class, so probably will spend Saturday at the library.  The people at the coffee shop there know my order now.  Kind of embarrassing but, you know.”  He shrugs, pretending to laugh at himself but he doesn’t really feel like it’s funny.  He should stop being so honest with Cora.  Denial is a lot more fun.

His phone chirps but he ignores it, spearing another tomato and grimacing at Cora’s cheeks stuffed full like a squirrel.  

“So on Monday night Boyd’s having people over to watch the game.  And he’s inviting this friend who he says is really nice.”

“Nope.”

“Come on, Der.  It’s not even a date.  Just people hanging out.”

“I have plans,” he says, a little satisfied that it’s actually true.

Cora narrows her eyes at him, clearly thinking he’s lying.  “You just said your weekend plans were the library and a coffee, you don’t have plans for Monday.”

“Well, I do.  Tell Boyd I’m sorry though, because I missed the last one, and also he makes really good chili.”

“Whatever.  You don’t have plans, you just don’t want to go.  Quick, tell me what you’re doing.”  Derek can’t think fast enough and blushes immediately, shoving in a huge bite of lettuce so he doesn’t have to say anything.

“Oh my god.  Have you met somebody?  Do you have a date?”  She’s practically squealing, and Derek kicks her in the shins under the table.

“No, I do not have a date,” he insists, looking down when his phone chirps again and freezing when he sees who it’s from.

“Oh my god, is that him?  Or her?”  Cora looks like she’s going to snatch up Derek’s phone so he grabs it off the table and flicks off the screen, but not before seeing Stiles’ message on it.  He knows he’s as red as the tomatoes in his salad, and there’s absolutely nothing he can say to Cora because he’s always been a shit liar, and Cora is exceptionally good at calling him on his bullshit, even without her werewolf lie detector powers.

“No, it’s nothing.  I’d tell you if it was something, don’t worry.”

She reclines, seeming to consider this and then nodding tersely with her brows pulled together.  “Fine.  But you tell me about things when they get to be something.  Understood?”

Derek nods, feeling a little tension leave his shoulders and crumpling his napkin onto his tray.

“You’re lucky I have to book it across campus, otherwise I’d stay and grill you, you know,” she says fondly as she stands and pecks Derek on the cheek.

“I know.”  

She smiles and grabs her tray up, giving him a little wave before hurrying off while Derek gives a little sigh of relief at having dodged a major Cora-shaped bullet for the time being.

He waits until he can’t hear her quick footsteps anymore before checking out his phone again, his face turning red-hot as he reads the rest of Stiles’ message.

_'I want your tongue in my ass.'_

And holy crap, Derek’s not gonna make it ‘til Monday.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles get cozy. Many, many times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the new tags!

When Monday rolls around Derek’s less nervous, and he feels like he has a handle on his recent life.  He’s gone to the gym and showered, jerked off and showered again, and now he’s got popcorn in a bowl and is waiting for Stiles to text him so he can let him in his apartment.  

A knock on the door surprises Derek, and he trots over to swing it open, inhaling swiftly as he sees Stiles standing there with a grin on his face and looking adorable in jeans and a Captain America t-shirt.

“Hey, your cute neighbor let me in,” he says as he walks past Derek casually and toes off his shoes.

“Which one, the British guy who plays his music too loud, or the blonde girl who likes to fight with her boyfriend at two a.m.?”  

Stiles laughs with his whole body, his mouth stretched impossibly wide, and it warms something in Derek’s chest.  He follows Stiles to the couch and he can sense the makings of a routine beginning to form which makes his werewolf heart happy.  Because he may be paying for it, but a warm body in his apartment, a ridiculous laugh, the smell of familiarity, and someone to take care of are things he needs also.  And well, he’s paying for those things too, and both he and Stiles know it.

“Did you want to watch a movie?” Stiles says, eyeing the popcorn as he settles on the couch cushions and draws his legs up.  “I’m totally down for some cuddling.”

“Sure,” Derek says agreeably, sitting down next to Stiles but not touching him.  It’s less awkward this time because he knows what to expect, but he’s still god-awful nervous about what’s going to happen in the next two hours.  “Oh, I’ve, err, got my paperwork with negative results.”  He motions to where the printout is sitting on the coffee table and Stiles swoops down to look it over, smiling happily and digging into his pocket to hand a similar one to Derek.  The reminder that this is a business exchange is a bit unnerving, but Derek had dutifully gone to the clinic Stiles had recommended and sweated out needles for this, so yessir, they were going to fuck without condoms tonight.  He’s impressed he can even think that thought without having a massive panic attack.

“Awesome,” Stiles says, setting down the paper and leaning back on the couch, and his easiness makes Derek relax into the cushions more readily.  “Anything good on?”

Derek grabs up the remote and flicks through the cable menu, grunting when Stiles curls up next to him and worms his shoulder underneath Derek’s arm.  When Derek just sits there like a rock, Stiles moves Derek’s arm around his shoulder and makes a satisfied little puff of air.  He makes grabby hands towards the popcorn bowl and Derek pulls it forward by one finger and settles it on his lap, thrilling at the way Stiles’ hand reaches over to dig in the bowl repeatedly, and accidentally on purpose keeps brushing against Derek’s crotch.

After a few minutes of neither of them watching the movie on the screen, Stiles picks up the popcorn bowl and wriggles around so his head is in Derek’s lap.  He pulls the bowl onto his own stomach and grins up at Derek, saying, “Feed me.”

Derek feels his cock leap up in his pants, and he  _knows_  Stiles can feel it because he’s suddenly grinning even wider and opening his mouth.  With a shaky hand, Derek pushes his fingers up to Stiles’ lips and lets Stiles’ teeth drag across the tips as he pulls the kernel of popcorn away.  He swallows and Derek watches the bob of his Adam’s apple, drawing forward to trace along Stiles’ neck.  Stiles pushes the base of his skull into Derek’s legs, exposing his neck like he’d done the last time, and Derek can feel some part of him break as he rumbles deep in his throat and holds his hand very lightly over the width of Stiles’ throat.  

He squeezes ever so slightly and can feel every single breath Stiles takes, Stiles’ smell getting more excited and his arousal more pungent with each passing second.

“Can I kiss you?” Derek husks out, thumb rubbing tiny circles while Stiles’ whiskey-colored eyes blink up at him like a big doe.  And that’s probably on purpose too, the wide-eyed innocence and slack lips, but it’s working on him and Derek doesn’t care because he wants Stiles so god damn bad he can taste it on his tongue.

“Yeah, please,” Stiles says quietly, and he clutches onto the popcorn bowl as Derek bends down and brushes against his lips.  It’s a bit awkward with the angle, Stiles having to crane his head upward so they can actually meet.  He shifts around and suddenly Derek has a lapful of a wriggling body and warm, buttery hands feeling over his biceps and teasing at the bottom of his t-shirt.

They kiss for a long time, slow lingering slides of soft lips and licking tongues, and it’s nice to make out and grope and grind, and Derek’s missed this so much.  Everything feels like he’s underwater, like the glass is fogged up, like it’s happening to someone else, and when Stiles pulls back he nips at Derek’s bottom lip to draw a bit of pain that makes Derek’s eyes sharpen and refocus on Stiles’ glazed over look and cherry-pink lips.

“What do you want to do to me, Derek?”

Derek’s mind stutters because he’s not sure.  And, well, that’s a lie, because more accurately, he does know but he’s not sure he wants to tell Stiles about his dirty little fantasies.  Especially not the ones involving coming all over his tight belly and smearing it in so every wolf in a five-mile radius can smell his claim on him.  Derek remains silent and Stiles attaches his lips to Derek’s neck, kissing and biting as he works his way up to Derek’s ear and breathes heavily into it.  

“Do you want to fuck me?  Do you want to take me to your big bed and spread me open on your cock?  Tell me what you want, baby.  I can suck your dick first if you want.  Get it all wet, just my tongue on your skin this time.  Tasting your come.”

Derek groans and tightens his hold on Stiles’ hips, the words melting his brain and he silently stands up, holding Stiles to him effortlessly.  Stiles wraps his legs around Derek’s waist and they walk back to the bedroom, Derek stopping to flick on the light switch on the way.  Derek’s bedroom isn’t too big but it’s decorated nicely, the large bed dominating the center of the far wall with two nightstands flanking it, and a floor-to-ceiling length window identical to the one in the living room occupying the entire outer wall.

If Stiles is impressed he says nothing, and Derek fights the odd sensation of being disappointed.  He knows it's his instincts wanting to provide for his mate (hah, his mate), and that it means nothing, is just some left-over residual part of his wiring that he can’t seem to kick.  Stiles doesn’t care what his thread-count is.  Derek hardly cares.  But his wolf wants to plow into Stiles and make him come at least three times and then maybe spoon feed him some ice cream in bed, and whoa, where did that come from?

Derek shakes himself minutely to get his head back in the game, because Stiles is stripping, pale skin revealed slowly as he smiles almost shyly up at Derek.  The smell of his arousal is even stronger on his bare skin, and Derek looks his fill as Stiles lays back completely naked on his sheets, long limbs sprawled and gorgeous, and pink cock plumping up between his legs.  Possession wells through Derek and he strips off his shirt and crawls up on the bed, running his fingers in awe over the line of moles that trails down Stiles’ neck and over his chest.  He reaches Stiles’ nipples and plucks at them with both hands, watches the way Stiles writhes, and he does it again just to see his hips move and his eyes flutter shut.

“Yeah, Der,” Stiles breathes out, and Derek’s heartbeat trips at the petname.  “Feels good.”  Stiles’ fingers make a similar path down Derek’s chest, pausing to flick at his nipples and running his hands over the pronounced lines of Derek’s abs.  “Holy crap, you’re ripped.”  Stiles chuckles warmly as he scratches into the line of dark hair at Derek’s navel before popping the button on Derek’s jeans and dipping below the waistband.  

Stiles’ praise spurs Derek on and he noses down Stiles’ neck and breathes in the scent in the hollow between his collarbones, licking a flat stripe there and dragging his tongue downward until he’s curling it around a tightened nipple.  The tender bud tenses between his teeth, Stiles’ cock hardening fully against the back of Derek’s hand before Derek gets the courage to twist his wrist around and circle him loosely.

Stiles keeps making encouraging noises, the slim hips bucking into the slow pulls of Derek’s hand.  Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s broad back, tracing along the curved lines of his tattoo and he kicks at Derek’s pants and boxers to sling them further down his hips.  Hastily, Derek slides then the rest of the way off, shuddering when Stiles’ breath puffs hot on his shoulder and Stiles’ thigh presses warm and firm against his cock.

“I stretched myself open for you earlier, thinking about this.  How do you want it?”

Derek groans and slows his hand, thinking carefully because he’s really not sure at all.  He’s imagined doing this a dozen different ways, and doing this to Stiles in particular a few million, but he’s not sure what would actually feel good, and then he has a crippling sense of uncertainty crash over him because he has absolutely  _no idea_  what he’s doing.

“Hands and knees,” he finally decides, because as much as he’s interested in seeing every flicker over Stiles’ responsive face, that also feels a bit intimate.  Plus he doesn’t want Stiles to see how much he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Wriggling out of Derek’s arms, Stiles makes a grab for the lube that had fallen out of his pocket, tossing it at Derek and spinning over so he’s on his forearms, ass up, presenting himself like he’s a fucking toy to be used.  Derek looks down at the bottle in his hands, knowing he’s supposed to lube Stiles up and make sure he’s stretched out.  And academically he knows what to do, but his hands still shake with fine tremors as he internally debates whether or not he can actually do this.  Not because he doesn’t want to—because _oh_  does he—but because he really doesn’t want to fuck it up.

“Look, I realize this is the least unsexy thing I could say right now,” Derek says with a nervous quiver to his voice, sitting back on his heels and wondering why he’s even voicing this.  “But I’ve never actually… in anyone.”  He bites his lip and lowers his eyes when he sees Stiles turn his head around, and then Stiles is close to him, kneeling up and wrapping his hands around Derek’s neck.  He bends his head down to nuzzle against Derek’s cheek and drops light kisses along his jaw before pulling back and looking Derek straight in the eye.

“We can go slower if you want, that’s totally okay,” he says in a soft voice, his brown eyes looking warm and earnest.  “We can do something else.  I liked blowing you.”  He grins and moves close to kiss Derek again and Derek lets him, feeling somewhat relieved to have let the cat out of the bag and letting Stiles draw his tongue into his mouth with slow, languid licks.  

They press closer, Stiles much gentler now, and Derek feels the knot he hadn’t even known was in his chest begin to ease up.  “No, I really want to fuck you,” Derek whispers against Stiles’ lips, and then he’s kissing Stiles’ teeth because Stiles is laughing softly and then kissing him back with eager excitement.

Stiles flops back down on the bed again, grabbing up the lube and falling down to one shoulder so he can pour some into his free hand and stretch back to finger against his rim while Derek watches with a slackened jaw.  The long, skinny fingers disappear in Stiles so readily, the pink muscle spreading over Stiles’ knuckles, and it’s fascinating and dirty and gorgeous.

“Lie down,” Stiles says as he pulls his fingers out with a loud squelch and wipes them off on the sheets.  Derek resolves to wash them immediately as he settles back, head on the pillow.  Stiles hovers over him and slides Derek’s glasses off slowly, setting them on the nightstand and smiling down at Derek beatifically.  The light of the bedside lamp is soft and kind, and it makes the edges of Stiles a little fuzzy.  Of course it could also be that his glasses are off, too.

Stiles pours more lube into his hands and slicks up Derek’s cock, careful not to overstimulate him, and Derek is grateful because he really doesn’t want to embarrass himself any more than he’s already done tonight.  

“Okay, just go slow at first.  I’m stretched out, but you always need to go slow.  This is not a porno, you know.  Up the butt is serious business.”

Derek laughs and moves his hands where Stiles guides them, first over his tightened nipples and then to his lips before trailing back down to his hips.  Stiles’ cock hangs heavily between his legs and Derek wants to touch it but he keeps his hands where Stiles left them obediently.  Grabbing the base of Derek’s cock, Stiles guides it carefully to him, sinking down very slowly onto the tip.

The warm squeeze around him feels fantastic and Derek can feel when the head of his cock pops inward past the clench of muscles, and can actually feel each of Stiles’ breaths as his body heaves and stutters.  He keeps himself absolutely still, letting Stiles do all the work, gravity helping him to slide downward, stopping to pause along the way.  After a minute or so Derek is balls deep inside and the feeling is magnificent, especially when Stiles looks down at him with pink cheeks and a bit of exasperation at being filled up so completely.

“Okay, now we can move a little,” Stiles grins, rocking his hips gently as Derek digs his fingers in deeper.  He makes dirty grinds before lifting up, drawing his hips up a little further each time until Derek’s almost all the way out of him before dropping back down.  They’re silent for a bit, just the grunts that Stiles knocks out of Derek every time he squeezes down.

The pace is torturously slow but Derek can still feel his orgasm building up like a giant wave, the novel sensation of being inside someone, of the wet slickness and Stiles looking so beautiful sweating above him driving him closer and closer.

“Shit, I—” Derek says brokenly, thrusting up once and immediately staying his hips.

Stiles takes this as his cue to pick up the filth again, leaning forward to brace himself on Derek’s chest, and the changed angle makes everything tighter, hotter.  “Yeah, come on, fuck me hard, Der.  Want to feel you fill me up with your come.  Want you to fuck me so hard I'll feel it all day tomorrow.”

Derek’s hips snap up and Stiles full-out moans, and it sounds pretty real and Stiles' cock is leaking onto his stomach, so Derek does it again and again until he’s slapping Stiles’ hips down against him with each thrust.  Stiles shouts out with each pound, voice raspy and high, and Derek freezes and comes with a loud  _‘Fuck’_  that he’s sure his neighbors can hear.

Coming inside Stiles is fantastic, his baser instincts purring at filling up the tight hole with his seed and hearing the satisfied cries from his mate.  Derek flips them over and pushes once, twice deep into Stiles before his hips finally stutter to stillness.  He pauses, breathing hard, body draped over Stiles’ and Stiles’ hard cock trapped between them.  Without thought, Derek slides down the sweaty body and wraps his lips around Stiles’ cock, fingers pushing through the mess of come trickling out of Stiles’ hole and feeding it back inside with a growl of possession.

Stiles tenses and pushes at Derek’s head, saying quickly, “You don’t have to,” but Derek holds tight and sucks hard, and Stiles is coming hot on his tongue and shooting down his throat with a strangled wail.  Derek swallows it down, and it’s warm and tangy, the feel of Stiles sated and limp beneath him making him glow with pride.

“Well  _that_  I’ve done before,” Derek says against Stiles’ still-hard cock, giving it a brief kiss before falling down on the bed next to Stiles’ hip.  Stiles swats playful at Derek’s head and Derek catches the hand easily, mouthing at the knuckles and curling his legs up.

After a minute Derek feels around for the tissue box and grabs a few to clean himself off, offering it to Stiles who dabs half-heartedly and then tosses them over the side of the bed.  He seems to think better of it after a second, leaning off the side to gather them up and toss them in the trash can, turning around to give Derek a sheepish grin.

“Dude, you’re gonna be so amazing at this.  I can already tell.”  

Derek rolls on his side, one hand coming up to rest beneath the pillow as he looks at Stiles’ lax, red face and drumming fingertips.  He really wants to reach out and pull Stiles against his chest so they can cuddle in the afterglow, but his insecurity stays his fingers.  “Could we go with a different nickname than ‘Dude’, maybe?” Derek says, smiling softly when Stiles pretends to be affronted.

“What, you don’t like my dirty talk?”  Stiles kicks his leg out and wiggles his toes up Derek’s shin.  His feet are cold and Derek shifts away, laughing and pushing at Stiles’ knee to get him off.

“No, it was alright.”  

Stiles shuffles closer, butting his head against Derek’s shoulder, his breath warm on the sweaty skin.  “Just alright?”

“No.  Good.  It was good.”  Derek lets his hand come up and pet into Stiles’ hair, fingernails scratching along his scalp until Stiles stretches and purrs like a giant cat, scooting the rest of the way in so there’s no space between their bodies.

“Alright.  Der Bear.”  

“Hah.  No.”

“Hot stuff.”

“Stiles…”

“Grumpy Wolf.”

Derek’s quiet and Stiles picks his head up to look at his embarrassed face, propping himself up on his elbows and then resting his cheek onto Derek’s chest.  “Do we have a winner?”

“My friend calls me that,” Derek admits, and Stiles laughs again, his mouth hanging open like he can’t contain his happiness inside.  Derek wrestles Stiles into a headlock, pinning him down to the bed and tickling along his sides until Stiles starts crying tears of laughter and stops his flailing enough to tap out on the bed.

“Meanie,” Stiles says teasingly, but he gathers himself up to stand and look for his jeans on the floor.  Derek pulls the covers up around himself, biting his lip as he watches the show.

“Der is good,” he says, voice quiet, and Stiles looks up from where he’s stretching his sock over his heel to give Derek a look that is perhaps affectionate before it slips into something a tad more professional.

Derek snaps out of his haze and searches for his clothes, locating his boxers and pulling them on.  He rubs at his half-beard as he waits for Stiles to dress the rest of the way, smiling at the way his hair is sticking up in all directions looking like he’s just been freshly fucked.  It’s a nice look and makes Derek’s wolf purr for having been the one to have done it.

The walk to the door is less awkward then last time, though they keep their distance from each other.  

“See you next Monday?” Stiles asks as Derek slides back the bolt lock, and Derek nods dumbly and bites his lip.  Stiles takes that as a yes, giving him one more quick grin before sliding through the door and out into the hallway.

Again, Derek listens until he hears the heartbeat disappear down the road, and he pads back to his bed to curl in the still warm sheets that smell like Stiles.  The scent of come is strong in the air and Derek spends the night with his nose in Stiles’ pillow, the warmth comforting.  When he wakes the next day the scent has almost faded, and he frowns in disappointment.

***

Now that he knows what it’s like to fuck inside a tight, warm body, Derek’s hand just doesn’t feel the same.  The entirety of his weekends feel like he’s waiting for Monday to come so he can get Stiles writhing beneath him, or on top of him, or next to him.  Once he’s gotten the basics down it’s a lot easier to tell Stiles what he wants to do, exactly where he wants him, how he wants his tongue or ass or fingers.

“Let’s try this,” Stiles says lightly one evening, grabbing the headboard with two hands and drawing his legs up.  He throws his head back, body limp and throat bared, and Derek growls at the blatantly submissive display.

He’s learned Stiles barely needs any prep, tries not think about why that is, and after a few quick fingers and a lick up the quivering, pink cock, Derek is pushing into Stiles’ tightness and slinging the skinny legs around his hips.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s good,” Stiles encourages, fingers turning white as he grips with all his strength as Derek begins to pound in.  “Here,” Stiles breathes out, turning his head so the thick cord of muscle in his neck stands out prominently.  “Put your teeth in.  Bite me.”

When Derek slows to a stop, Stiles looks at him curiously from beneath his lashes, wriggling his hips to get some movement inside of him.  “Sorry, a lot of wolves like that and I thought—”

The growl that slips from Derek’s lips is inhuman, and Stiles’ eyes widen slightly as Derek pulls out and then slams in as hard as he can, bending down to snuffle into Stiles’ neck but not biting.  “Let go of the headboard,” he says evenly, and Stiles does.  Derek immediately shifts them around so Stiles is sliding on Derek’s dick and pushed down roughly, face-first into the mattress.

“Color?”  

Stiles had explained to him in detail what the system was, but this is the first time Derek’s thought they might ever need to use it.

“Green,” Stiles says clearly, mashing his face back into the pillow.  “God, please, yes.”

Derek frowns and drags Stiles up by the hips, angling down towards Stiles’ bellybutton with his cock and grinning wickedly as Stiles squirms and swears as he drags over that sweet spot inside.  “Grab the headboard again.  And don’t tell me what other wolves like,” Derek says as he stills his hips, sliding down to grab Stiles’ cock and making a tight circle around the base.

“I won’t, I won’t, I’m sorry, please,” Stiles calls out, squealing and clenching down with his muscles as Derek squeezes even tighter.  Derek sucks a bruise into Stiles' shoulder just to be an asshole, because he knows Stiles will bear that mark when he's with other clients.  The thought makes Derek’s claws snick out but he's careful to keep them away from Stiles' delicate parts.

Derek resumes thrusting, long and deep, making Stiles mewl.  “Mine,” he says as he holds Stiles firmly by the hips and comes hard.  He leaves Stiles aching, face-down and ass up until Derek can get it up again, and then he does it all over, only letting Stiles come after he's begged for it heartily.  Stiles makes sure to never ever mention other wolves after that.

***

Routine settles in, and one Monday Derek is too busy with a paper deadline to see Stiles, but Stiles still sends him a picture of his treasure trail above low-slung pants and a sad face, saying  _'Little Stiles misses you.'_  It makes Derek laugh.

***

They’re out at dinner, and Derek normally doesn’t do that, because it feels somewhat silly dating someone you’re paying, and plus it’s not like a real date.  But Derek had had to wait for his professor’s office hours and had forgotten his usual granola, so he is starving when seven o'clock comes.  They end up at the nicer of the two sushi places in campus town, and Derek looks at Stiles shyly over the edamame, racking his brain for conversation.  He’s had his tongue in Stiles’ ass so many times he can't count, but finding words that don’t make him sound like a giant nerd are still difficult for him.

“What’s your family like?” Stiles starts with, and Derek feels a shutter fall down behind his eyes.  It’s a normal, innocuous conversation starter with most people, but Derek’s not most people.

“I’ve told you about my sister, Cora, before.  She’s it, though.  Just a creepy uncle who I’m forced to see at holidays.”

“Ah, I’ve got one of those,” Stiles says, popping a green soybean from the pod and playing with it on his square plate.  “I’ve just got my dad.  We’ve got a few relatives here and there, but family gatherings are normally pretty sparsely populated.”  He looks at the way Derek is stirring his drink with his straw and not meeting his eyes.  “We’re just a bunch of sad sacks, aren’t we?  Alright, new topic!”

“No, it’s okay,” Derek says, looking up to Stiles’ thinking face.  He seemed like he's staring off into space but refocuses when Derek sits in silence for a minute.  “There was a fire.  Cora and I are kind of on our own now.  I try to look after her, and that’s why we’re at the same school, mostly.  You know.  Yeah.  It’s kind of hard but.  Yeah.”  He stuffs in a pot sticker and chews so he doesn’t have to say anything else, and he can see Stiles softening from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Der,” he says, and that makes Derek blink and stare at his plate.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, and feels like he means it.  They eat in silence for a while, before Stiles picks the conversation back up to lighter topics and impresses their waitress with his napkin folding abilities.  They’re just sharing their artfully sliced oranges when a familiar scent makes Derek look up, and he sees Cora gawking at him from across the restaurant.  Derek waves reluctantly, knowing the chances that she’ll just wave back are slim to none.  Especially with Stiles sitting across from him.

Stiles notices and looks between the two of them, quirking an eyebrow and smirking.  “Your sister?  Good looks run in the family.”

Derek flushes and sets down his orange, nerves ramping up his heartrate which he knows Cora will hear in an instant.  “Yeah, can you just, uh.  Try to act cool?  She can spot a lie a mile away.”

Stiles nods, keeping silent as she heads across the room, and Derek’s grateful Stiles knows so much about werewolves for once, because his heart rate is steady and his grin is easy and real.

“Hey Derek,” Cora says sweetly as she stands in front of their table with a cocked hip, giving Stiles a once-over.

“Hi Cora,” Derek answers, trying to exude confident casualness.  

There’s a moment of silence in which Stiles looks between them and nudges Derek beneath the table and Cora finally asks, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Oh, yeah, Cora, this is Stiles.  Stiles, Cora.”  

Stiles shakes Cora’s hand, and Derek examines both of their faces, anxiety roiling in his gut along with the sushi and making him slightly nauseous.

“So you’re the reason my brother keeps cancelling on me and avoiding my texts.”  Cora grins at Stiles like they’re in cahoots, and Stiles laughs with his usual carefree humor.  As she looks at the empty chair next to them like she might try and plop down in it, Derek glances sideways, searching for a way to exit gracefully.

“Yeah.  Bit of a grumpy wolf like that, isn’t he?” Stiles says, giving Derek a side-look.  Cora’s eyebrows climb before she bites off a laugh and turns to look at Derek’s pinched face.

“I like him.  Good work, bro.  So how did you two meet?”

“Sorry, we were just about to leave,” Derek says quickly, relief flooding through him as the waitress comes with the check, validating his statement.  Derek hands over a credit card and she sweeps off, leaving the three of them alone again.

Cora smiles a knowing smile, looking between the two of them, at Stiles biting his lip with amusement and Derek fidgeting with his napkin.  “Well, I’ll leave you two kids to it, then.  And you, mister.”  She pokes Derek in the chest and he pulls his eyebrows down into their trademark scowl.  “Return your calls.”  Then she looks over at Stiles and beams brightly.  “Nice to meet you, Stiles.”

“You too, Cora,” Stiles says, nodding at her and kicking Derek under the table.

“Will do.  Bye.”  Derek smiles with his teeth, instantly falling back into his chair as soon as Cora disappears around the corner.

“She seems nice,” Stiles offers as they stand and head through the restaurant’s front doors.  Stiles links his arm into Derek’s, his free hand resting on the elbow of the leather jacket.  Derek feels himself relaxing into the touch unconsciously and they head over to the Camaro which has a light sheen of condensation on the windshield.  Derek pushes Stiles up against the passenger door and sniffs along his neck, slow and sensuous, his glasses pressing up against his temple in the process.  Stiles smells like wasabi and amusement, with a hint of green tea on his breath.  

“She’s going to ask me a million questions,” Derek grumbles, and he removes his hands from Stiles’ ass as he remembers that they’re in a parking lot in full view.  

“Tell her the truth.  Or most of it.  That I’m a hot guy you sex up all the time.  That you like to give it to me real good ‘til I wail your name.  She won’t really want the details, will she?”

Derek huffs out a laugh and slaps Stiles lightly on the ass, herding him into the car.  “Eww, no.  I don’t want to hear the words Cora and sex in the same sentence ever again.”

Derek slides into the driver’s side and turns up the heat, rubbing his hands to warm them and smiling when Stiles takes one between his palms and rubs vigorously before popping the index finger into his mouth.  

“Come on, we still got at least an hour before I have to hit the hay.  Maybe we can make use of your big ‘ol shower.”

“Okay,” Derek says agreeably, his chest rumbling with warmth even though the car’s still chilly.  His finger is cold from where Stiles’ spit is cooling, but he doesn’t say anything.

***

Derek looks down at his vibrating phone, pulling it over his notebook and shielding it from Isaac’s prying eyes.  

_‘I have a Saturday spot opening up.  You interested?’_

Derek’s heart leaps.   _‘Yeah.’_

_‘Okay, cool.  You want to do that instead of Mondays, or?’_

Derek thinks for a moment, ignoring the curious look Isaac is giving him, and he shoves his notebook over so Isaac can copy down his notes.

_‘Both?’_

Stiles sends back a happy face followed by a pair of pink kissy lips, and Derek tries hard not to let a smile slide across his face.

“Dude, you’re so getting laid,” Isaac whispers, and Derek hides his phone quickly and tries to look like he’s not guilty.  He opens and closes his mouth like a fish, finally just shrugging while Isaac rolls his eyes.  “You gonna tell me who he is?”

“Nope.”  It’s kind of killing Derek to not be able to talk about it, because hey, he’s half proud that he now has an active sex life, but there’s nothing he can say that’s not, well, I’m having sex with a hooker.  Who’s super hot and funny and cute and I’m kind of getting hung up on him.

And well, shit.  Derek takes Saturdays anyways.

***

The first Saturday they spend together Derek is a bundle of nerves again.  He’s well-rested from sleeping in slightly, and has all the time in the world to freak out and clean his apartment before Stiles comes over in the evening.

Derek puts his arm tentatively around Stiles as they watch reruns of Whose Line is it Anyways while Stiles guffaws and plays with the thumb holes on Derek’s sweater.  His nose is still cold from the walk over, December chilling the wooden floors, and when Stiles presses his face into Derek’s neck it makes him shudder all over.

“C’mon, let’s get in bed,” Stiles says, and Derek allows Stiles to lead him over to the bedroom like he always does.

It’s slow and sweet, warm breaths and cold toes, and afterwards Derek holds Stiles close, forgetting to hold back because he’s too tired to censor himself anymore.

“I should go,” Stiles murmurs, sleep coating his voice and eyelids flickering shut.  Derek looks at the moon outside the window, blurry without his glasses on.  He frowns, knowing that Stiles will have to walk home in the cold and darkness, the thought making him fiercely protective.

“Stay,” Derek says, holding him tighter, and Stiles snuggles closer.

“No, I don’t stay the night.” Stiles' lips brush along Derek’s shoulder, and it sounds almost like he’s trying to convince himself of his own words.

“I’ll pay you.”  The words feel thick in Derek’s throat.  They don’t often talk about payment, the sums just magically are deducted each week and Derek doesn’t say a word.  

Stiles is asleep already, though, and Derek realizes this is the first time that’s ever happened.  He takes the opportunity to watch the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders, the way the pink lips part with the slight snore, the fan of dark lashes over Stiles’ still-flushed cheeks.  He looks beautiful and perfect, and Derek’s heart thumps  _matematemate_  so hard that it’s painful.

He forces himself to close his eyes, count to ten, find an anchor.  He knows it’s a lost cause, though, so he curls up around Stiles’ spindly body and lets himself pretend for just the evening.  It’s only one night, after all.  Stiles will be gone in the morning.  He can stave off the ache then.

***

The problem is, Stiles’ scent is everywhere.  It’s on his clothes, on his pillow, and now it’s on his  _towels_.  Derek hasn’t had it in him to wash it yet, the smell of sweat and sleep lingering in the folds of the white fluffy one Derek had given Stiles to use, and it still hangs neatly next to Derek’s on the towel bar.  And it’s so domestic it makes Derek pop his knot when he’s showering, the thought of Stiles shuddering on it and tied to him making him come harder than he has in a long time.

 _‘Are you inviting your boyfriend to Christmas dinner?’_  Cora texts, and Derek tosses the phone aside, unhappy to be dodging Cora but not wanting to lie anymore.  He waits to respond and then forgets to, getting lost in studying for finals and weak from eating only ramen.

Stiles cancels on him on Friday afternoon, and Derek is disappointed but understands.  It’s probably for the best because his Medieval Studies final is going to be killer, and frankly he’s behind in his reading.  He uses the weekend to read the thousand pages he’s behind—literally—and feels like a zombie after the eight a.m. final Monday morning.  He knows it’s the last Monday he’ll see Stiles before winter break, so he takes a nap afterwards and showers, lingering at the towels so he can breathe in Stiles’ scent.  

He decides to cook for the two of them but burns the rice for the pilaf because the burner is too hot, so he orders pizza instead.  Stiles doesn’t say anything about the burning smell, but does look like he’s trying to hide a smile when Derek ushers him through the kitchen with a paper plate and a napkin.

After dinner they grind together on the couch this time, Derek sinking blunt teeth everywhere, ending with a wet bite along Stiles’ hip.  It’s the place where he’d bite Stiles if he was really, truly giving him The Bite.  If he was going to turn him.  To make him his mate.  Wolves don’t need their mates to be wolves, but it feels better, stronger, and Derek wants that with all of his being, with every fiber of it.  Stiles has never ever talked about it, but Derek finds himself wondering how exactly Stiles knows so much about wolves.  Does he have a wolf in the family?  Has he...dated… a wolf?  Stiles is always careful to come over smelling freshly scrubbed, like only mountain fresh detergent and Doritos, but Derek isn’t a fool.  He knows Stiles has other clients. Other werewolf clients.

His thoughts push his mood darker and he pulls Stiles off his lap and dumps him onto the floor, looking down at the messy mop of hair and the way Stiles’ cheeks are blotchy in between the moles.

“I want to spank you,” Derek says plainly, and he notes the way Stiles’ pupils darken and his tongue snakes out to lick his lips.  “I want your ass to be so red you won’t be able to think of anything else when you sit down for a whole week.”

“Yeah.  Okay, yeah.”

Derek growls, irrationally irritated with Stiles for his eagerness.  Because he’d be eager for anybody.  Because Derek’s fucking paying him to be.  

He hauls Stiles up by the wrists and tugs down on his sweatpants, pulling them to Stiles’ knobby knees, Stiles' dick growing harder beneath Derek’s steely gaze.  Stiles dances slightly on his feet, trying to kick off the pants, but Derek unceremoniously throws him forward before he can, holding onto the bony wrists and stretching them far to pin them against the couch.  Stiles’ body is draped over his lap, the muscles in his back tense and trembling, ass raised deliciously.

Derek traces the edge of his nail along the curves, heavy enough to draw a bright red mark along one cheek and sliding down so the backs of his fingers brush against Stiles’ downy sack.  His touch makes Stiles twitch, and Derek knows Stiles is trying to be good, is so perfect for him.  He doesn’t want perfect, all of a sudden, though.  He wants crying and begging.  He wants so desperately for it to be real that he draws his hand back and surprises them both when he drops it down heavily with a loud smack.

Derek’s never spanked anyone before—fuck, he’s never done more than a few sloppy blowjobs before two months ago—and now he’s doling out punishment to Stiles’ perfect bottom and watching red bloom on pale skin with a tightened jaw.  Stiles makes whimpering noises of pleasure, and Derek changes angles, slaps down against the crease of Stiles’ thighs, the skin marking so prettily.  It’s so primal, so gorgeous, and he immediately wants to mark Stiles every way that he can.  

“What do I want to hear, Stiles?” Derek says as he pauses between smacks, fingernail tracing along the heated skin and making Stiles jerk and shudder.  He’s stopped struggling against Derek’s hands still holding his wrists fast, and his face is tucked into his bicep, back slick with sweat.

“Please,” Stiles chokes out, bowing his back slightly to push against Derek’s hand.

“Nope.”  Derek drops his hand again, the sound of the spank loud in his ears.

“Please, Der.  Want you so bad.  _Please_.”

Stiles’ cries aren’t enough this time; Derek wants everything.  He rains down more blows and Stiles takes them silently, only breaking on a rough cry at the last solid one and then tilting his head sideways so he can look at Derek with glassy eyes and a slack mouth.  Derek rolls him over on his lap and Stiles winces as his hot skin rubs over Derek’s jeans, but his cock is still red and swollen, tucked in the crease between his leg and belly.

“Am I as good as your other fucks?  Or are they better?” Derek asks brusquely, not even aware he was thinking the thought.  He rests the back of one finger on Stiles’ taint, enjoying the way Stiles is struggling with his sweatpants around his ankles and his wrists bound above.  

“No, no,” Stiles babbles.  “No one’s as good as you.”

Derek listens for the uptick of Stiles’ heart-beat but it’s steady—beating rabbit fast in his chest, but steady.  He rewards Stiles with a hand loose around his cock, and one slow stroke upward.  Stiles twitches violently in his hands, and Derek smiles darkly, pleased at his responsiveness.

When Derek doesn’t move again, Stiles looks up with wet lashes and humps his hips forward.  “Please, Der.  Please.  Want you.  Want you so bad.”  Then a lightbulb seems to go off behind Stiles’ eyelids because he perks up suddenly, his mouth starting to run again.  “Want you, just you.  Only you.  Please, Der.  Mark me up.  Put your teeth on me, your come in me.  Make me drip it out into my pants.  So everyone will smell it on me all day.  Please, just, jesus, fucking need it so bad.”

Closing his fist, Derek begins to jack Stiles with slow, steady movements, watching the blush creep down into the collar on Stiles’ t-shirt and the stomach muscles tense and clench.

“Yeah?  Only me?” Derek grunts as he manhandles Stiles onto his front again and releases his wrists so he can yank his own pants down.  Stiles nods furiously, scrabbling at the couch cushions and pressing his head down, ass up as far as he can so he can present, obviously trying to appease Derek’s animalistic mood.

“Yeah, c’mon, please Der.  Mount me.  Mount me like your good little bitch, little bitch in heat.  Need you so bad.  Only you.”

And he wants to so _immensely_  when he sees that pretty hole fluttering for him, but he still has the presence of mind to look for lube, his fingers perfunctory before plowing in with his cock and starting to pound.  Stiles yelps and smells so much like prey, like heat, like mate that Derek howls through his orgasm in record time.  He feels tingling at the base of his cock, his knot wanting to trap him inside Stiles’ tight heat, and it takes every ounce of control Derek has to stave off the urge and pull out of Stiles with a hard slap to his ass.

It’s only afterward that he realizes Stiles has made a sticky mess on his leather couch, coming without Derek touching his cock.  He feels like he should be proud of that, but instead feels a touch of bitterness settling in along with the post-orgasm laze, because no matter how good of a fuck Stiles is, no matter how pretty his hole is or how supplicating his words are, they’re not real.  It’s not the truth.  

“Sorry about your couch,” Stiles says as he makes a face when his leg smears through a pool of his own come.  He searches for the Kleenex and dabs it off, reaching for Derek to cuddle against his side.

Derek waves at him absently, resting his chin on top of Stiles’ tucked head, breathing deep and trying to catalog the thoughts running rampant in his brain.  Stiles smells like hair gel and sex and Derek’s burnt kitchen, and it makes Derek’s chest tighten.

“It’s late.  I can stay over, if you want?”  Stiles makes it a question, his voice sleepy and sated and earnest.

Derek surprises himself by saying, “No, I have to study.”

Stiles nods, but is slightly stiffer in Derek’s arms.

“Sorry,” Derek adds belatedly, wishing yet again he was better with words.  They kiss once more but Stiles doesn’t linger long after that.  

“Hey, I’ll text you over break.  I won’t be gone the whole time.  Back for New Years.”

“Okay.”  Derek knows Stiles is waiting for him to make plans, but he just feels tired.  “Have a good break.”  

Stiles’ slight look of disappointment as he stands on Derek’s doormat must be something Derek’s imagined.  He closes the door and tries to keep his mind blank as he cleans up the tissues and dresses again.  Stiles left his undershirt—on purpose?— and Derek takes a moment to breathe in the scent fully before tossing it in the laundry hamper.  Where he can’t smell it anymore.

***

 _'Merry Christmas to my fave grumpy wolf,'_ Stiles texts on Christmas morning.  And Derek knows he means ‘to my favorite client.’

He thinks of a million different things to text back, but then Cora calls him into the living room and he doesn’t.  It’s late at night when he realizes he’d never replied, and, deciding it’s too late, leaves it unanswered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have zero self-control and published this today instead of waiting. The wait will be longer for the last part because it's written only in my mind. Thanks so much for reading and commenting. You are all so lovely!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek doesn't call Stiles, but runs into him someplace unexpected.

New Year’s Eve is on a Friday, students already drunkenly yelling things outside Derek’s window by nine o’clock.  

“Hey, the jello shots are ready,” Cora shouts from the kitchen, and Derek peels himself off from the couch to head over there.  Isaac’s already slammed down three, Erica inching one along the countertop at him with a smile.

“Get Boyd in here, he needs to do one too,” she says, her bright red lipstick absolutely perfect even though she’s been downing drinks like it’s nobody’s business.  Boyd appears by her side, lining up two in front of him and kicking back the rest of his beer, slamming the bottle down in a way that makes Derek wince.

“Careful on the werewolf strength there, pup,” Derek says, and they all laugh even though it isn’t that funny.

The shot slides down his throat, a bit gummy for his taste, and he frowns thinking of how Stiles likes to eat gummy bears in his bed after coming twice.  That brings his thoughts along to the time Stiles drizzled chocolate all over Derek’s dick and licked him clean with broad, rough strokes of his tongue and then rimmed him until he flipped them both over and came all over Stiles’ eager face.  Derek shifts against the island, trying to hide his hard-on, but in a room of werewolves it’s difficult to hide anything.  Luckily, the general consensus among wolves is to just ignore those types of things, otherwise everyone would be in everyone’s business all the time and that’s a topic he doesn’t want to visit with his sister, definitely.  It’s been three weeks since he’s had sex with Stiles, though, and he feels like every little thought tips him over into uncomfortable arousal.  

Cora’s invited a few other friends, and they crowd the kitchen and eat Derek’s hors d’oeuvres, and he tries not to frown as someone piss-drunk knocks a painting off the wall and puts it back so it hangs crooked.

Cora waits ‘til Derek is sufficiently drunk and sitting next to her on the couch before curling her feet under her and resting her head on his shoulder, obviously gearing up for a big talk.  “This couch smells gross,” she says tactfully.  She’s been sleeping on it for the last week over the holidays but hasn’t said anything, and Derek tries hard not to think about the number of times he’s had Stiles face down and moaning on the cushions, and the amount of their come now rubbed into the fabric.

“Sorry,” Derek murmurs, pulling on the label of his beer bottle until it peels off unevenly.

“Did you and Stiles break up?”

Derek stares at the label, crumbling it in his hands and brushing it off his legs and onto the floor.  He doesn’t answer for a long time, and Cora sits up and crosses her legs, taking the bottle away from Derek and setting it on the coffee table.

“Derek.  Come on, you need to say something to me.  It’s not healthy to keep it all inside.”

“I know,” Derek says, running his hand over his chin and feeling the scratch of his beard.  It’s longer now; he’s been too lazy in the mornings to do anything but roll out of bed and put on some sweatpants.  “No, we didn’t break up.”

Cora narrows her eyes at him.  “So why the sad look again?  Has he done something to you?  Has he hurt you?”  Her eyes flash suddenly, and Derek grabs her wrist, holding her so she doesn’t fly off the couch.

“No, it’s just.  It’s not like that.”  He takes a heavy, shaky breath.   “We weren’t really, ever.  Dating.  We weren’t dating.”

Cora is blinking at him in confusion, and Derek glances around to make sure they’re still out of earshot of the rest of the party-goers.  They’re currently congregating around the kitchen island and the mini-meatballs, so Derek breathes in deeply and finally spits it out.  “I was paying him.  Stiles is… I paid him.”

Cora deflates back against the cushions, a series of emotions flicking over her face.  Something like determination finally settles and she opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again, saying, “You have to tell him how you feel.”

Derek huffs out a laugh.  “No.  That’s exactly what I _shouldn’t_ do.”

“Derek, come on.  I know it’s super scary, but you have to.  What if he likes you back?  What if this is your chance to be really, truly happy?”

“No, he doesn’t like me like that.  I pay him to like me like that.  It’s not...  It just would never work.”  He can’t quite meet Cora’s eyes, the alcohol making everything a little fuzzier, but his own words cutting into him like a knife.

“Derek…”  She has her hand on his arm now and he shakes it off, suddenly irritated with Cora for her meddling and her optimism.  His Hale-brain isn’t wired for it, can’t comprehend it, and he stands, trying to end the conversation so he can go back to drinking and pretending to have fun.

“No.  I’m breaking it off.  I don’t like feeling like shit all the time.  Don’t mention it again, please.”

Cora frowns but doesn’t say anything, and Derek stalks back to the kitchen, scenting out the jello shots in the fridge and finding that any number of people are happy to knock back a few of them with him.  After midnight Derek locks himself in his room, even though the party is still going strong.

***

Derek knows he needs to talk to Stiles again, but he keeps putting it off.  Stiles had texted him once more but had stopped when Derek hadn’t replied, and Derek's not sure if that makes him more miserable or less.  As he treks across campus to his first class of the new semester he resolves to think about what he’s going to say and then actually call him later, probably.  Possibly.

January is colder than December, and he pulls his scarf tighter, werewolf heat only doing so much for him with the sharp wind cutting through the stitches on his jacket.  He clutches his new notebook to his chest and heaves open the large door to the building, nearly running into someone on their way out and mumbling a quick “Sorry” as he looks around for his classroom number.

He sees Isaac pushing angrily at a vending machine, walking over to him and giving him a brief nod.

“Hey’d you find the room yet?” Derek asks, glancing down at his watch to see they only have two minutes before the hour.

Isaac narrows his eyes and kicks at the machine, finally knocking his KitKat loose and fishing in the little pocket to pull it out.  He holds it up triumphantly, face ridiculously happy at having “hunted” his candy bar lunch down, and Derek tries hard not to grimace.  His friends are weird.

“Yeah, I set my stuff down already.  What’s with you being late?  You’re always like fifteen minutes early to everything.  It’s freakish.”

Derek gives him a side-look as he follows Isaac into a large classroom, and luckily the professor hasn’t started yet.  He picks up a giant syllabus packet from a stand and takes one step further before he freezes, a very familiar scent washing over him.  He knows it because he’s spent a few mornings inhaling it on Stiles’ cheek and neck when he was pressed up next to him sleeping, and he’s overwhelmed with a barrage of emotions that he’s not at all prepared for.  Stiles looks casual and happy, sprawled at his desk, purple hoodie zipped up and head thrown back in a goofy laugh before returning to a more neutral smile directed at the person next to him, and that makes Derek burn with jealousy.  And of course Stiles would be in this class.  No matter that it’s a three-hundred level course that mostly majors take.  But it does satisfy the gen-ed requirement, so it must be why Stiles is… here.

Isaac’s stopped too, and is giving him a very confused look, mouthing ‘What?’ at him while Derek shakes his head minutely and jerks his head to the back.  “I’m gonna sit back here,” he says as quiet as he can, because he knows that Isaac will be able to hear him but hopefully no one else would.

The professor’s at the front of the room now and clearing her throat, so Derek retreats and Isaac reluctantly follows, and they get seats in the very last row of the room.  Derek peeks from behind his notebook to see if he’s been caught, but Stiles is facing forward and seems to be acting normal, his legs sprawled out in front of him and sneaker scuffing against the floor as he jiggles his leg.  Derek can see the top of his gelled hair spiked up ridiculously, and it kind of makes him ache a little on the inside because he remembers vividly what the exact texture feels like.

Isaac lets Derek wallow in his own mortification, mercifully not asking any questions, but shooting Derek several suspicious glances throughout the lecture.  Derek barely listens, plotting out ways to escape before Stiles can see him.  If he can get out the back door before Stiles even turns around, he can probably loop through the back of the main auditorium and sneak out the side exit.  And then promptly change sections, because there’s no way he’s going to make it through a whole semester of sitting in the same room as his ex-…. ex-whatever.  

Stiles keeps raising his hand to ask questions and they’re good questions.  Like good, thought-provoking, teachers-pet-but-definitely-deserves-the-title questions, and it makes Derek both miserable to hear his voice again, and also makes him fall in love with Stiles a little bit more.  And then he promptly stabs himself in the leg with his pencil, because he just thought the word love and oh shit, he is well and truly fucked now.  Derek has to copy down Isaac’s notes for once, stealing his notebook, and Isaac wrestles it back as the lecture is wrapping up and says, loudly, “Dude, what is _with_ you today?”

Derek inadvertently looks right in Stiles’ direction, and Isaac follows his gaze, and then it’s like Derek’s been kicked right in the gut, because the guy Stiles had been poking all class now has his arm around Stiles and is laughing like Stiles has just said the most hilarious thing in the world.  Derek scents the air, zeroing in on Stiles and the other guy, stiffening as he realizes he recognizes that scent because he’s smelled it on _Stiles_ before.  And it smells like a wolf.  Something in Derek’s brain clicks, and he shoves everything into his bag like an automaton.  

He doesn’t even know how he’d ever entertained the thought that things could work out with Stiles, that they could have anything more than… a professional relationship.  Of course Stiles would have a boyfriend.  A werewolf boyfriend.  Who has werewolf kinks and probably knots Stiles over desks and in showers, and rakes his claws over him until he’s crying for it.  All the things Derek would never do to him because he was too scared to.  Too afraid of frightening Stiles away.

“That’s my ex,” he mumbles to Isaac as he tries to slink out of the back of the room, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

“Dude, he’s _cute_ ,” Isaac says before tossing out a quick “Sorry” at Derek’s withering look.  

Derek uses Isaac as a shield, successfully making it out of the room and bolting at the first chance he gets.

“Bye,” Isaac calls down the hall after him, shaking his head.  Derek doesn’t even feel bad.

***

Five hours later Derek is rubbing at his temples, glasses hanging on his shirt because he has a massive headache.  He rereads the email from his advisor, the words ‘no open sections’ making him feel like he’s going to have a panic attack.

Maybe he can get Isaac to take notes for him and share them.  And take his tests.  Derek swears under his breath, already contemplating skipping next Monday’s class.  Shit.  And he still has to text Stiles.  Double shit.

He heads over to his K-Cup machine, poking at the button viciously until his coffee steams out, and he takes a deep, calming breath as he inhales the bitter smell.  He searches for the sugar and finds the box of caramel macchiato cups he’d bought for Stiles, even though he’d never used them.  Derek dumps the coffee in the sink and decides on a run instead.

***

Derek is the master at procrastination when he wants to be, and Monday morning he’s still not texted Stiles back and finds himself lingering outside the classroom door, trying to find Stiles’ scent amongst all the unwashed co-eds to see if he’s in class already.  He can only smell chalk from the old school chalkboards—you’d think with the tuition he was paying they could afford some fricking whiteboards—and also the scent of Stiles’ boyfriend or whatever.  He catches a whiff of Stiles from the other hallway, bright and warm, with mountain fresh laundry detergent and a bit of Mountain Dew today.  

Derek turns in slow motion, knowing in his gut that it’s too late to try and bail, and Stiles rounds the corner and stops abruptly with a look of faint surprise on his face that he quickly masks with a jaunty smile.

“Hi, Derek.”

Derek nods, feeling like his throat is closed off.  “Hi.  Stiles.”

“So this is, like, odd.  I figured we both went to school here but, you know… I hadn’t run into you before so.”

Derek nods again like one of those dashboard houndogs.  “Yeah,” he says eloquently, scuffing his foot against the floor.  “Er, look, I’m sorry I never called.”

The words make Stiles close down immediately, and Derek watches in misery as something slides over his face that makes it more mask-like and wooden.  “Oh, nah, it’s alright, man.  I’ll, uh, see you in there?  Or.  Whatever.”

“Yeah, okay.”  Derek follows after Stiles glumly, thinking this is the most awkward conversation he’s ever had with the guy, including that first terrible date where he’d said no more than a two-word sentence until Stiles had sucked him off.

Isaac’s eyebrows are raised all the way to his floppy bangs, and Derek falls into the desk next to him, muttering, “Don’t say a word.”  He has to endure watching Stiles hug werewolf-boyfriend-guy, arms clapping and mouth grinning, though Stiles does glance back to see Derek sitting there with a sour look on his face.  Stiles turns away quickly, and doesn’t look back again during the whole class.

At least this time he manages to take his own notes.

***

Derek’s taken to jacking off with the sole item of clothing he still has of Stiles’, his worn white undershirt.  He’d washed it once and now deeply regrets that, because the scent is dull, fading away, and Derek feels so dirty burying his nose in it while he works himself over furiously.

He doesn’t even try to hold back his knot anymore, just lets it pop out, all naked and needy.  He likes to hump the bed, or rather, it’s the closest approximation he has to being next to someone, being in someone, being in Stiles, so he does it every time.  Stupid Stiles with his moles and his goofy smile, and the way he looked all soft and contrite when he kicked Derek in the middle of the night.  And his fucking gummy worms that Derek had found between the sheets one morning.

As he cools down and wipes the sticky mess off of his stomach, Derek irrationally decides that he hates Cora for putting him in this predicament.  Because now he is not only alone but miserable, too.  Because he knows what it feels like to have someone, and now it’s like he has some big gaping hole right in his chest that he can’t warm no matter how hard he tries.  And it’s not like he really had someone anyways.  He was pretending he did.  The thought doesn’t cheer him up at all.

He picks up his phone to call Stiles, no idea what he would say if he actually pressed the button.  Stiles’ picture stares back at him, and Derek throws it down and tries not to feel anything.

***

“Hey, Sour Wolf,” Cora says as Derek settles down with his tray.  They’ve fallen back into the routine of lunch in the Union, now that Derek’s had more free time with his lack of a social calendar.

“What happened to Grumpy Wolf?” Derek says blandly, aware how grumpy he’s coming off as he picks at his lettuce.

Cora laughs— _at_ him, what a jerk—but then smiles sweetly.  “How’s that thing going that we’re not supposed to talk about?”

Derek chomps down on the lettuce, poking at the hard-boiled egg in his salad and mashing it down into little bits with his fork.  “It’s not going.  Nothing is going.”

“Isaac told me he’s hanging around another wolf in that class you all share.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that,” Derek says as he’s chewing, angrily trying to stab at an olive.

“I still think that—”

“Nope.”

“But I’m just saying that if— “

“Not gonna happen.”

“If you just told him—”

“Cora.”

She stops finally and eyes him.  “I just want you to be happy, you know.”

Derek sighs heavily, setting down his fork and feeling another headache coming on.  Someone bumps his elbow off the table and he resists the urge to turn around and growl menacingly.  “I know.  That’s not really up to me in this case, though.”

Cora frowns at him, and she looks so much like their mother that it’s more than Derek can bear with all his recent kicks to the heart.  “You know that’s not true.  You choose to be happy or you choose to be unhappy.”

“That’s what Mom always used to say.”  Fuck, Derek hates it when Cora pulls out the big guns.

“I wish she was here, too,” Cora says, much quieter, and they chew in silence for a moment.

Derek’s pondering this, mulling over the possibility that maybe he should try and move on with his life, or something, when he stiffens up and mutters, “Shit shit, don’t look up.”

Of course Cora does exactly that, glancing to where Derek’s eyes are avoiding, her eyebrows raising up.  “Oh, is that him and the werewolf boyfriend?”

“Oh my god, Cora.  I told you to shut up.  Werewolf boyfriend can hear you.”  Derek clamps his mouth shut, because this is just getting more embarrassing by the second, and crap, Stiles and the floppy haired wolf are walking right towards them.

“Hi Cora.  Hi Derek.  This is uh, cool to see you.”  

Derek can hear Stiles’ heartbeat a little faster than normal and he forces himself to look up.  Stiles’ honey-brown eyes are warm, cheeks a bit flushed from presumably just coming in from outside, and he tugs his backpack further up over his shoulder.

“Hi Stiles,” Cora says warmly, and Derek is happy to remain silent.  Cora glances over at floppy hair guy and back at Stiles, and that makes Stiles clear his throat and smile sheepishly.

“Yeah, sorry.  This is my friend, Scott.  Scott, this is Cora and Derek.”  

Derek smiles politely though it kills him a little, and he knows he’ll spend hours analyzing the way Stiles said “my friend” and the word Derek with a slight squeak to his voice.  Floppy hair guy—Scott, he supposes—smiles genuinely, and his earnest good looks makes Derek uncomfortable.  He’s got olive-y skin and cute dimples, his jaw slightly crooked, and Derek hates him immediately.

“Nice to meet you,” Scott says, and Derek hears the steady thump-thump of the guy’s heart, and he’s so genuine Derek wants to punch him.  And werewolves—and humans—aren’t mind readers, but Derek’s body language is certainly giving enough unhappy vibes that he is entirely surprised when Stiles opens his mouth and rushes out with a string of words.

“Hey, so for this English project we’re supposed to have, you know, a group of people.  And we, Scott and, well, er, I was wondering if you wanted to join us?  And your wolf friend too, the one with the curly hair?”

Derek feels slightly irritated that Isaac is being reduced to “his wolf friend”, but it isn’t inaccurate.  Then it hits him that Stiles just voluntarily offered to do a group project with him, and why on earth would he even want to do that?  Things were so awkward between them, and it’s not like they had anything to even say to each other, so…

“Oh, uh, let me ask Isaac,” Derek hedges, because he’s torn between wanting to fling himself at Stiles and spend every second that he can with him, and also wanting to avoid the inevitable humiliation from being with Stiles and his wolfy boy toy.  Or whatever.  Scott.  His name is Scott.

“Okay, well, you have my number.  You, uh, still have it, right?”

Derek nods awkwardly, painfully aware of the three sets of eyes on him.  “Yeah.  I think so.”  He can be cool, he’s a cool guy.  Sure he is.

“Okay, great!”  Stiles gives him a bright grin and hitches his backpack up again.  “Well, we’re gonna go get lunch.”

“Nice to meet you,” Scott offers, and again, Derek hates his polite smile and good manners and the way he smells like the same laundry detergent, and just everything.  The two clop away from the table, and when they get in line at the sushi counter, Derek lets out his breath in a whoosh and tries to stop Cora before she can even get a word out.

“No.”

Cora waits until Derek looks a little less murderous, chewing on her sandwich and taking a big swig of pop before smiling at him.  It quickly turns into a full-out laugh, and Derek glances up to make sure Stiles and Scott are far enough away that they can’t see this ridiculousness.  “You’re so stupid.”

“Thanks,” Derek says crossly, though he kind of agrees with her.

Cora laughs some more and wipes at the corner of her mouth with her napkin before setting it down and snorting a little.  “No, really.  Didn’t you even smell them?”

Frowning, Derek tries to figure out what she’s getting at.

“What did they smell like?” she prompts when Derek remains silent, and he grimaces because he really doesn’t want to rehash the last five minutes.

“That stupid detergent that all Stiles’ clothes smell like.  Both of them.”

“And?”

“I don’t know.  Happiness?  What do you want from me.”

Cora laughs again, her lips stretched into a full smile.  “Again, you, idiot.  Oh my god, Der.  What don’t they smell like?”

Derek frowns again, still confused.

“Like mates.  No mating.  No come.  No saliva.  No nothing.  In fact—” she says, drumming her fingertips on the wobbly table and getting more visibly excited “—the not-Stiles had someone else’s scent on his collar.  A girl.  How did you not smell this?”  She laughs harder, and Derek has to try really hard not to punch her in the shoulder.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean…”

“Derek.”  She points her sandwich at him for emphasis.  “He just asked you to do a project with him.  That’s seventh grade speak for I love you, let’s get married and have lots of babies.”

Derek turns beet red, looking down into his mashed up salad.  “I don’t want babies with him.”

Cora giggles even more.  “You’re never going to live this down, bro.  I’m taking a picture of your face right now and putting it on Facebook.  Grumpy Der Finds Mate.  Want to Have Lots of Babies with Him.”

“I hate you, Cora.”

“You’re going to say yes, aren’t you?  You better call him.  I’m going to text you dirty knock knock jokes every hour until you tell me you did.”

“Okay, I’m leaving.  Goodbye, Cora.  See you at Christmas next year.  Forget ever using my car again.”

Cora’s still laughing when Derek gets up to throw his trash away, and mercifully Stiles and Scott are nowhere to be seen.

***

After a round of very confusing emails from someone named Szyszec Stilinski and, more easily discernible, Scott McCall, Derek learns why Stiles goes by Stiles.  They decide on coming to Derek’s apartment because Isaac lives in a studio, and Stiles and Scott’s place is “a pigsty” according to Scott.  Stiles refers to it as “dorm-room chic” but also agrees they should look for another place to meet.  

And that’s how Derek grudgingly finds himself helping Isaac put pizza rolls on a baking sheet and waiting with sweaty palms for Stiles and his werewolf person— boyfriend?  fuck buddy?  friend?—to show up.  The place is spotless, Stiles’ shirt hidden in the hamper under a pile of clothes, and Derek stares at the oven like it will heat faster if it’s under direct scrutiny.

His doorbell buzzes and Derek walks over to the wall, immediately hitting the button and not even bothering to check who’s there.  He could hear Stiles’ heartbeat as soon as the two of them rounded the street corner, and curiously, it’s speeding up as they walk up the spiral stairs.

Derek opens the door before they get there, smiling awkwardly and moving to the side so Stiles and Scott can come in.  Scott thrusts a bag of popcorn at him and Derek says “Thank you,” trying not to be obvious as he tries to scent the guy to see what he can figure out.  He does catch a whiff of perfume, and Derek decides maybe Cora was right, maybe they aren’t actually dating.  He doesn’t want to get caught up in false hope, though, so he tries to tamp it down until all he feels is his usual embarrassment, and he’s stupidly good at the repression of all things hopeful.

Stiles walks through to the living room like he owns the place, throwing his bag onto the couch, pulling out his laptop and giving a nod to Isaac who’s already on the floor with his notes spread out around him.  Stiles looks at ease, wearing the same goddamn Captain America shirt that he was the first time he came over, and Derek wonders how he can be so flippant about everything.  He probably just doesn’t care, he realizes, and Derek sucks in a breath and sits down rigidly on the couch, pulling his own laptop off of the end table.

“So, I kind of did some of the work already,” Stiles says with a bit of a sheepish look.  “But the first part was really easy, just a bit of research, and so.  I figure we can split up the other sections and then all we have to do is put it into PowerPoint format and then figure out who’s speaking and like, practice that part.  Are you okay with public speaking?” Stiles asks, looking at Derek and then smiling slightly.  “Well, er, maybe Scott can do that part because I’d like to not get a bad grade.  I mean, oh, sorry dude.  You know what I meant.”

Derek is silent through Stiles’ stream of words, Scott looking over at him and giving him a helpless shrug that makes Derek grin a little.

They divide up sections of the chapter that each are going to work on, Stiles taking charge, everyone else happy enough to do what he tells them to do.  It’s slightly less awkward when they have tasks to complete and a common subject to talk about, but, it’s still pretty awkward.  Derek finds himself glancing up at Stiles, catching his eyes once and then looking back down at his textbook with heated cheeks.  There’s two wolves in the room who can smell his embarrassment, and Derek wonders if he should invest time in getting some new human friends, because his life would be so much easier.

The oven starts beeping and Derek drops his book quickly, jumping up and setting it down on his spot on the couch.  

“Hey, do you guys want anything to drink?” Derek says, remembering that he forgot to ask when everyone first got there.

Isaac shakes his head, still buried in the textbook index, and Scott says, “Sure, I’d take a water.”

Stiles looks torn between wanting to get up and not wanting to look away from his computer screen.  Derek doesn’t miss the way Scott kicks at Stiles’ shin beneath the coffee table, and the look shared between the two of them.  “Yeah, I’ll have something.  Do you want me to help you?”  He draws his legs out from beneath the table, hauling himself up using the couch and knocking Derek’s book off of it in the process.  He rights it quickly, though Derek knows it’s not open to the same page anymore, and he gives Derek a small smile that makes his heart thump a little harder.

“Alright,” Derek answers, not even knowing why.  This evening is already ridiculous, and he doesn’t know why he’s voluntarily choosing to make it even worse.  He pads into the kitchen, Stiles following with silent, sock-covered feet.  Derek shoves the pizza rolls into the oven and sticks his head into the fridge, trying not to listen to the slight acceleration of Stiles’ heartbeat and the way he’s tapping his foot as he leans against the island.  It’s so similar to a number of other nights—minus the clothes—that Derek can hardly bear it.

“I have juice and coffee and some pop,” Derek says to the cans lined up neatly in his fridge.

“Coffee, please,” Stiles says, and Derek closes it and opens his cupboards, pulling out the box of caramel macchiato cups and turning to show them to Stiles.  “Yeah, that’d be awesome, thanks.”

Derek pulls out a clean mug and begins filling it up with water, Stiles starting to chatter idly.

“Yeah, I can make a mean latte now.  You wouldn’t believe how many choices you get when making coffee.  There’s the half and half, the skim, the non-dairy.  You should come by sometime, and I’ll make you something.  I mean, I know you like your coffee black so your order’s easy, but you’d know it was made with love so.”  He smiles timidly and Derek looks at him with curiosity.

“What do you mean?  Did you get a new job?”

Stiles shuffles nervously, grabbing onto the hem of his shirt and sliding it between his fingertips.  “Yeah.  I have the early morning shift which sucks balls, but you know, it’s a job.”

“Why are you working at a coffee shop?” Derek asks bluntly, because he can’t think of anything to say, and he knows that Stiles can’t possibly have the time or need the money _that_ bad, because the escort business pays pretty well.  He definitely knows that is true.

“Well, I kind of quit my other job, and even though I’m living with Scott and splitting those costs you know, still gotta eat and everything.  I’m actually seeing if I can get in at the cafeteria, because they give you free brownies.”  Stiles trails off at the end, leaning over Derek to pull the mug out of the coffee machine and blowing on the top of it, watching the steam curl through the air.

“Why did you quit your other job? Wasn’t it good money?”  Derek can’t seem to stop the questions, but it just doesn’t make sense to him.  He pretends like he’s looking for a cup for Scott but he keeps missing grabbing one, and he finally turns around and puts his hands on the countertop behind him so he can’t drop anything.

“Yeah, it was good money,” Stiles says quietly, sipping on the coffee and wincing at the too-hot temperature.

“Did something happen?”  Derek feels protective instincts flare up, his claws threatening to poke out of his fingertips, and he just barely keeps in a growl.  “If someone hurt you—” he begins, not even sure how he would end that sentence, and knowing that he sounds like a gigantic creeper because it's not like he and Stiles are _anything_ right now.

Stiles actually laughs, taking another sip again and then setting his mug on the counter.  “No, nothing like that.  I mean, there are always those weird ones.”  A frightened look must’ve crossed Derek’s face because Stiles quickly adds,  “No, not you.  Definitely not you.”

“I mean, I liked the job,” Stiles continues when Derek just looks at him, “I like having sex.  I like feeling wanted.  And with the escort service, it was a good gig.  Not just random people, you know?”  Derek nods like he knows, but it had seemed random enough to him.  “But like.  What I’m trying to say is.”

There’s a terribly long pause in which Derek feels like he might die.  He tries to hold his breath because if he can pause the world, he’ll never have to hear Stiles breaking his heart once and for all.

“There was someone who I liked.  A client.  And I kind of think he liked me.  And I wanted to see if it could be something more, and I figured a clean start was the best, and.”  Stiles stops talking mid-sentence, Derek feeling that familiar sinking feeling in his chest as the Stiles-shaped hole starts to expand until it’s like a giant gaping maw.

“Oh.  Is it Scott?  He seems nice,” Derek makes himself say, turning around and gathering up the glass.  He looks at it, setting it down with care on the countertop so he won’t break it with his shaking hands.

“No.  No, you idiot.”

Derek turns around at Stiles’ tone, utterly confused.

“It’s you.  I like you!”  Stiles moves forward and actually whacks Derek right on the shoulder, and he’s so confused that he blinks two times and then whacks Stiles right back.

“Ow, dude, that hurt!” Stiles says with a laugh, rubbing at his sleeve.

“Me?” Derek says, knowing he sounds like an idiot, but he can’t quite believe what Stiles is saying to him next to his oven, in socks, smiling like he didn’t just hand Derek his own heart.

“Well I could do without the unnecessary violence, but yeah, you.”

“But.  Why?”  Derek can’t seem to comprehend what’s happening, and he wishes he could sit down, but there’s nowhere convenient in the kitchen so he just leans awkwardly against the fridge.

“Because you keep the type of coffee I like even though you hate it, and you look so adorable when you’re bumbling around trying to figure out what to say.  Because of the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking, and the way you try to subtly but not so subtly rub yourself all over me to scare off other werewolves.  Because you’re absolutely the hottest person I’ve ever seen and give the most enthusiastic blow jobs ever.  And also that fuzzy feeling I get when you smile just like that. I mean, is that enough?  Because there’s more.”

Derek’s slowly letting the disbelief thaw, sheer joy sliding over his face to replace it.

“And I mean, I thought maybe you felt the same way too, like a little?  But also you never called and pretty much refused to speak to me so.  I mean.  C’mon, Der, give me something here.  I’m out on a limb all by myself.”

Derek takes two steps forward and pulls Stiles to him, nuzzling against his cheek and breathing in the scent hidden at the back of his shirt collar.  This time he smells like cookies and hair gel and also nervousness that’s slowly fading into jumpy excitement.  Stiles slides his arms around Derek’s waist, and they fit together so perfectly.

“Yeah, I just.  Yeah.  To all of it,” Derek says, lips moving against Stiles’ neck, tasting the way his skin moves when he laughs.  

Stiles’ hands slide down to grab at Derek’s ass through his jeans, and Derek surges with happiness, sliding his lips over Stiles’ jaw and mouthing at the corner of his lips before licking into them.  The kiss is warm, sweet, Stiles tasting like sour candy and joy, and Derek feels like he might burst into a thousand pieces because he’s so warm and light.

After a few moments the oven starts beeping and they jump away from each other in surprise, still close enough to keep their hands on the other.  Stiles is grinning from ear to ear, lips pink and slightly shiny and fingers gripping into Derek’s shirt.  They move closer again, Stiles’ eyes lowering just a bit as they breathe in the same air, but the oven beeps again and they hear pounding on the wall which makes them break apart with a laugh.

“What are you doing in there?” Scott shouts, though he sounds somewhat amused.

“If you start having sex, we’re leaving,” Isaac calls, pounding on the wall again for good measure.

“Shut up,” Derek yells back, Stiles wincing slightly because Derek’s still right next to his ear.  Derek untangles himself from Stiles’ arms and goes to grab the oven mitts, grinning at Stiles like he’s just won the lottery, and pulling on the oven door.

The pizza rolls sizzle on the sheet and Derek tosses them onto the top of the stove before grabbing Stiles with two mitt-covered hands and kissing him soundly.  More pounding on the wall makes them separate again and Stiles yells back, “You’ll get your damn pizza rolls in a second.  Hold your horses!”

They kiss a little more because they have to let the pizza rolls cool, after all.

***

Derek lets Stiles choose where their “first” date is, and he pulls his Camaro around the corner and idles outside the freshman dorms feeling like a gigantic pedophile, though he’s only three years older than Stiles.  He tugs his leather jacket closer, turning up the heat and promptly forgetting anything but his wildly thumping heart as Stiles yanks open the door and falls inside.  He gives him a grin that’s Christmas morning sized before fisting his hands into the lapels on Derek’s jacket and reeling him in for a sloppy, warm kiss.  Derek feels warmth spread down to his toes and he hits the accelerator a little harder than intended, making them skid away from the curb while Stiles laughs in delight.

“Hi,” Stiles says.

Derek grins back, his face hurting.  He feels like he’s been doing a lot of that lately, and it’s almost like the muscles are sore from the workout.  “Hi.”

The diner Stiles picked is dingy and smells of bacon grease, the type of place where the waitress calls you ‘hon’ and is barely polite.  Stiles orders a double cheeseburger with bacon, curly fries and a chocolate milkshake, and Derek has something off the ‘Trim & Slim’ menu that Stiles doesn’t even comment on, though it looks like it’s about to kill him to keep from bursting out laughing.

They get the bill and Stiles snatches it up, Derek letting him without any resistance, though the awkward reminder of how many times he footed the bill for the two of them lingers.  Stiles grabs his hand and yanks him up, and the simple gesture erases any lingering doubts as Derek lets him pull him out of the double doors and towards his car with enthusiasm.

“Soooo,” Stiles says with a wavering inflection.  “What do you want to do now?”  He turns and pins Derek up against his car, waggling his eyebrows and moving in, pretending to bite Derek on the nose.

“I’m pretty tired.  I was thinking of calling it a night,” Derek deadpans, smirking at the way Stiles’ face falls for a split-second before he dives under Derek’s jacket to attempt a tickle attack.

“Shut up.  If you don’t fucking put your dick in me tonight I’m going to… do something really mean.”

“Your threats are so scary, babe,” Derek laughs, shoving at Stiles’ hands so he doesn’t undress him right there in the parking lot.  “C’mon, get in the back seat.”

“What, are you kidding?  This is a two-door car.  We’re not gonna fit.”

“I thought you wanted to get laid, baby cakes.”

“Yeah, but in like a bed,” Stiles whines.  “With pillows and blankets and you can worship my cock for a good long while before knotting me so good I’m crying.”

Derek stills beneath Stiles’ wandering hands, making Stiles look up with concern.  “Sorry, was that too much?”

“No,” Derek says with a dry throat.  It’s still hard to get the words out sometimes, especially when Stiles is laying it all out there for him, but it's getting a little easier.  “You don’t know how much I want to knot you.”

Stiles kisses Derek sweetly, but the grind of his hips is anything but.  “Come on,” he whispers hotly in Derek’s ear, the warmth making him shudder.  He tilts his head, his neck more vulnerable to Stiles’ lips as he continues in his low voice, “Take me to bed, Der.  Knot me.”

And that’s all the dirty talk Derek needs.  He somehow stumbles into the car and makes the ten minute drive home, leaping out and barely able to keep his lips off of Stiles the entire way up the stairs.  They stop against his door as he fumbles in his pocket, Stiles making it extremely difficult by reaching into the other one and trying to grasp at his dick while Derek whines high in the back of his throat.  

His neighbor walks by, the British one with the too-loud music, and they break apart guiltily, Derek giving him a neighborly nod and then letting his head thunk back against the door.

“Oh, Jesus,” Stiles laughs, dipping into the other pocket and fishing out the keys.  He pushes it in the lock and Derek stumbles backwards, laughing like he’s drunk but he’s not, he’s just happy, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

They kick the door shut and he loses track of everything but Stiles.  Stiles’ gelled hair in his hands, his lips slotted against his, so soft and smooth, the slide of his tongue and the taste of his milkshake.  He lets Stiles shed his clothes, watching as he shyly pulls off his socks and overshirt, and then his t-shirt over his head.  It makes his hair stick up a little in the back, and that little detail is almost too much for Derek.

Derek quickly follows suit, shucking off his shirt and wiggling out of his pants as he follows Stiles into the bedroom.  It’s a scene that he knows so well, Stiles crawling onto his bed and slowly stripping for him, but this time it’s so so different that Derek almost has to stop and stare because if he doesn’t, Stiles will just float away.

“Come here,” Stiles says softly, and Derek kneels up on the bed, grabbing Stiles’ outstretched hand and letting Stiles pull him down over him.  They still have on boxers, Stiles wearing the tight black ones that he knows Derek likes, and Derek takes his time kissing him, exploring the softness of his mouth, the way he pants wetly when their cocks rub together through the fabric, the way his eyes squeeze tight when Derek’s hand finally makes its way past his waistband and rubs against him gently.

Stiles bucks into him and does his best to push down Derek’s boxers and his own, and Derek relents his soft strokes of his hand to help him.  They stare at each other’s naked bodies, and it’s been a little while, but Derek remembers every freckle and every mole, and he sweeps over each one of them with his fingertips before lowering his head and tracing his tongue over the constellation patterns.  Stiles writhes beneath him, cock still untouched, beginning to whine.

“Come on,” he whispers, his tone much more urgent now, but Derek smiles at the crease of his thigh, laps against the furry-soft skin and mouths at the base of Stiles’ cock.  Stiles whines more, but Derek holds him down by his hips and licks thick stripes from base to tip, swirling at the top and taking the head inside his mouth.  

Stiles nearly kicks Derek and Derek huffs out a laugh around his cock, pressing Stiles more firmly down to the mattress with his elbows and attempting the most thorough blow job of his life.  He works in two fingers slowly, Stiles clamping tight around him with a sigh, and a third goes in without too much trouble.  Derek fucks in and out lazily, like he has all the time in the world, and really, he does.  

After about five minutes Stiles hits his tolerance level and starts scrabbling at Derek’s head, pushing him away and saying in a high, needy voice, “C’mon, I want to come on your knot, Der.”

Derek obliges, pulling off with a lingering lick but leaving his fingers in, spreading them to stretch Stiles out, making him mewl.  “It’s been… a while…” Stiles pants out, and this makes a pleasant growl rumble up from Derek’s chest.

“You’re mine now, yeah?” he says, rotating his fingers and pressing up along the spongy-slick walls.  Stiles keens and spreads his legs further, trying to fuck himself back onto the fingers with little success.

“Yeah, just yours.  Only yours, Der.”

He slides his fingers out and replaces them immediately with the fat head of his cock, pushing in without much ceremony, both of them pretty desperate for it and not wanting to wait another second longer.  Stiles feels so amazing around him, muscles flexing and fluttering, all hot, tight heat that’s almost like suffocating and Derek can hardly breathe.

He bends close to Stiles, wrapping his arms beneath his shoulders and pulling him off the bed, hugging him tightly as he slides in inch by inch, the feel of his mate fantastic.  Derek can already feel the itch at the base of his cock, knows he won’t last long, hoping Stiles will forgive him for coming so soon.

It’s like the evening, the month, the year had been one long, excruciating foreplay, and Derek finds himself trembling above Stiles, emotion thick in his throat.  He rubs Stiles' sides softly and flicks at his nipples, vaguely wondering if Stiles thinks he’s such a big sap for the tender touch, and Stiles is so abnormally quiet it’s starting make Derek second guess himself.

“Is this okay?” Derek asks, reaching between their bodies and beginning to stroke Stiles off to the pace of his slow, languid thrusts.

Stiles flutters his eyelashes, looking dazed when he opens his eyes.  He licks his lips and blinks up, his mouth breaking into a sleepy smile.  “Yeah.  Yeah, it’s good.  Really really good.”  He sounds breathy and content, and this more than anything makes Derek feel like he’s nearing the edge of a giant cliff and about to hurdle himself off.

“I’m gonna knot you now, okay?”  He’s impressed that he has enough control to be slow and thorough, to draw these whines and whimpers from Stiles, and ask him these questions.  Oddly he feels more in control of his wolf than ever before, but maybe it’s because he knows he’s finally, _finally_ going to get what he’s been longing for with all his werewolf heart.

Stiles nods furiously, his heels digging into Derek’s ass to encourage him on, and he tilts his hips upward so Derek can fuck in deeper with each stroke.  “Yeah, please.  Want it so bad.  Please, Der.  Give it to me.  Knot me.”

Derek picks up his pace, the sweat on their hips making them slide easily together and apart, until he’s pounding in and Stiles is moaning loudly, nails digging into Derek’s shoulders.  His knot starts to swell, tugging at Stiles’ tight rim, the squeeze of it making Derek grunt until he tenses up, like he’s a coiled spring.

“Yeah, fuck, I’m— I’m coming,” Derek rasps out, and he hunches down over Stiles and pounds in deep a few more times that makes the mattress creak, and then his knot’s so big that he’s trapped inside and coming so hard it hurts his stomach muscles.  The clench around him is like nothing he’s ever felt, the squeeze of his own hand not even coming close to the feel of being inside someone, of being inside Stiles.

He fumbles around to grasp at Stiles’ cock again, freezing when it makes Stiles clench harder around him, and then Stiles calls out “Fuckity _fuck_ ,” and makes a mess all over Derek’s hand and their stomachs.  It’s the sweatiest and messiest Derek’s ever felt, and he has to take big heaving breaths to soothe his wild heart and the surge of emotions he’s almost drowning in.

Stiles pulls Derek’s hand off his cock and presses them together, and it’s kind of sticky and gross between them, but Stiles doesn’t seem to mind either.  Derek rolls them over so Stiles is on top, careful with his legs and knees, Stiles’ absolutely adoring look as he leans down on top of him making him warm and fuzzy in his chest.  Derek presses his lips together so he doesn’t say anything stupid, doesn’t make any big declarations about feelings and whatnot, but it’s hard to not let it fly from his lips.

“That was good,” Stiles says, laughing at the end of his sentence and kneading his hands against Derek’s chest.

“Just good?” Derek teases.  He traces Stiles’ jaw and the bow of his lips before tapping at his nose and making Stiles cross-eyed as he follows the path.

“You know you’re fucking amazing,” Stiles blurts out, biting his bottom lip and then letting his real grin seep out like he can’t contain it.

Derek shifts Stiles around so they’re both more comfortable, settling him so he's squeezing his knot just right.  “No. I'm not,” he replies with all honestly, and that makes Stiles’ grin turn sweet.

“And that’s why I love you,” Stiles says, and Derek catches his breath and can’t look Stiles in the eye for a moment.  Stiles lays his head down on Derek’s chest and doesn’t push him for anything more, and that’s why Derek loves him back.

***

Monday morning and Derek feels great, hand firmly holding Stiles’ as they walk over the quad and towards the Union building.  Stiles is still going on about their group presentation, the only one of the four of them irritated about the one point off they’d gotten for “insufficient number of pictures” on their PowerPoint, and Derek only doesn’t stop him because it’s cute to see Stiles so worked up.

“I mean, what is she blind?” he says, gesturing so hard with his hands that he slips from Derek’s grip and flails his way across the sidewalk.  “Isaac drew that little chibi Ayn Rand, what more could she want?”

Derek shrugs and grabs Stiles hand again, holding him back so a biker doesn’t nick him from the side.  Stiles grins at him in gratitude, taking a breath and then starting up again.  After a while he senses Derek isn’t listening to him anymore, so he switches gears, saying, “Your sister isn’t going to be mean to me, is she?”

Derek looks at him curiously, his eyes narrowing.  “Well, she’s always mean to me, but.  Why do you think that?  She’s never been mean to you.”

“Well, she knows about us, doesn’t she.  I mean, like, _really_ knows.  How we started and everything.”

Derek stops and pulls Stiles into his arms, kissing him even though they’re in the middle of the sidewalk and someone next to them starts wolf whistling.  “Why is that even a problem?” Derek asks, confused, ignoring the jerk on the sidewalk.  “She doesn’t care.  She just wants me to be happy.”

Stiles flushes, his nervousness making him even more endearing.  Derek isn’t often allowed to see to his self-conscious side, and he kisses Stiles again, this time more chastely.

“Do I make you happy?” Stiles asks, and Derek has a feeling he’s just trying to make Derek get red, too, because he knows exactly how Derek feels about him.

“Very,” Derek says, dragging Stiles up the stone steps and into the large foyer.  “Come on, we’re going to be late.  We’re ruining my ‘thing’.”

“Being early isn’t a thing.  It’s neurotic.  Being late is very fashionable, so I hear.  Or at least that’s what Scott says every time he shows up late to dinner.”

Derek pokes Stiles, trying to grab his nipple through his shirt and give it a twist, and Stiles squeezes through his grip and runs away, sliding into the chair in front of Cora and giving her a boyish grin.  “Hi Cora.”

Derek jogs up after him, looking disgruntled that he’s using his sister as a shield, and he slumps down into his own chair, though he can’t find it in him to stay mad at Stiles for too long.  They thread their fingers together and Derek tries to subtly steal Cora’s french fries to feed to Stiles, but she snatches them back and slaps his hand.

“You two are disgustingly cute,” Cora says grumpily, and Stiles leans his head against Derek’s shoulder and gives him a big, fake sigh, fluttering his eyelashes and turning to smirk at Cora.

“Well get used to it, babe, because we’re going to disgusting it up everywhere we go.”

“Oh god,” Cora groans, throwing her dirty napkin at the two of them and hitting Stiles right in the chest.  “I think we need to rewrite our brother-sister TMI guidelines, because after that couch stay and your gross PDAs, I think I need to wash my eyeballs with wolfsbane.”

Derek laughs, grabbing a fry while Cora’s distracted with her disgust, feeding it to Stiles and letting him suck on the tip for a split second.  “I’ve found someone who irritates Cora more than she irritates me.  I think you’re officially a keeper, Stiles.”

“I regret everything,” Cora mutters, and Derek only vaguely hears her, too preoccupied with the way Stiles is beaming at him like he actually thinks he’s funny.  If Cora could harangue him eternally about his dating life, she could damn well live with the consequences.

“I almost hate to tell you this, but Boyd’s having a movie night on Friday if you two can keep your hands off each other for long enough.  You can meet him and Erica, and bring your floppy haired friend.  What’s his name?”

“So polite, Cora,” Derek says, at the same time Stiles supplies, “Scott.”

“Yeah, well, Isaac said he’s cute, so bring him.”

“Isaac thinks everyone’s cute,” Derek says, stealing another fry.  “And doesn’t he have a girlfriend?”

“She’d like him,” Stiles says easily, grinning at Cora’s raised eyebrow.  “She’s into you freaky werewolf types.  I don’t pretend I understand, but—”  He trails off as Derek pokes him in the soft spot between his ribs, making a loud grunt.

“Well that’s the price you pay for hanging out with wolves,” she says to Stiles.  “We’re a bunch of weirdos but, you know.  Sometimes Derek lets us ride in his Camaro and stuff.  So we keep him around.”

Stiles pats Derek on the shoulder.  “I guess I’ll keep him.”  He holds up a fry for Derek to nip from his fingers, and Derek smiles, laughing freely when Cora shoves her tray in their direction and stands to leave.

“Okay, I can't take you two anymore.  No funny business now.  I don’t want to be bailing your two stupid asses out of jail for public indecency or anything.  You—” she says, tapping her nail on the table in front of Derek.  “Stop smiling like an idiot.”  She turns to give Stiles her sternest look which makes him straighten up like he’s about to be reprimanded.  “And you, Stiles.  Break his heart and I break your—”

“Cora!” Derek interrupts, but Cora smiles sweetly.

“I won’t,” Stiles says, and Derek feels warm all over as he listens to Stiles’ absolutely steady heartbeat, and the conviction in his voice.

“Yeah, you two.  Gross,” Cora laughs, then she kisses Derek on the cheek and turns around.

“I think she likes me,” Stiles says with a serious expression, and they both burst out laughing after a second.

“She’s all bark and no bite, don’t worry.  Come on.  We still have half an hour ‘til my next class and we can go make out on those chairs in the basement."

Stiles rolls his eyes, but lets Derek pull him there, putting up absolutely no resistance when Derek tugs him onto his lap and messes up his hair as they kiss languidly, like they have no place else to be.  Derek misses his next class, and he doesn’t even care.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on tumblr as [badwolfbadwolf](http://badwolfbadwolf.tumblr.com)! <3


End file.
